


The Summer Fling

by ccgh518



Category: American Assassin - Vince Flynn, Teen Wolf (TV), Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Real Events, Mostly Fluff, Reader-Insert, References to Teen Wolf (TV), Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 08:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 177,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11893644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccgh518/pseuds/ccgh518
Summary: This was a reaction to pictures of Dylan O'Brien smoking cigarettes that deeply upset me, on like, a cellular level. This is my version of getting his ass to quit.





	1. Boardy Barn

“You okay, Dyl?”

“This is a lot of drunk people… this is just a lot of people in general, and I feel like some people have recognized me, an-“

“Dyl.. you wanted to come with me.”

“Well, I didn’t want to just sit at the house all day.”

“You’re going to be fine. You have sunglasses and a hat and some of this crap.” Julia rubbed her fingers against the stubble on his face in an aggressive, teasing sisterly way. “No one’s going to recognize you, why don’t we get you a drink so you can chill out.”

Dylan rolled his eyes, regardless of the fact that he knew his sister would not be able to see it behind his jet black Ray Ban sunglasses. He sighed and followed her through the throngs of sweaty and beer-soaked bodies towards the bar. He sidled up next to her and pressed his elbows against the bar.

“ _That’s cool_.” He said sarcastically, pursing his lips, as he removed his elbows from the beer-soaked counter, and peeled a sticky bottle cap off of his skin. His head whipped around when he heard someone say his older sister’s name excitedly.

“ _Julia_?!”

“Oh my god, Y/n?!” Julia hugged the beautiful, y/h/c girl wearing a white sundress with a sunflower print. “When did you get back? I saw all those pictures on Instagram! It looked incredible.”

You smiled and blushed, still clutching Julia’s arms in your hands, excited to see your friend. “A few weeks ago. I had to cut it short but yea, Vietnam was incredible. I already wanna go back. What are you doing out here?” You asked, glancing up at Dylan standing uncomfortably behind his sister, watching the conversation but not partaking. You recognized him, but didn’t want to make a scene in that large of a crowd.

“I got a job in the city and a bunch of my friends and I thought that we’d rent a house in Montauk for the summer. Like, Rachel Klein, you remember her, right?” You nodded enthusiastically. “She’s part of the house and Collette DeSouza has kind of toned it down a bit so Rachel invited her. It’s only been like a week but so far, so good.”

Julia was cut off by the bartender’s voice. “We only have one kind of beer, so, how many?”

“Two, or um..” Dylan looked at you, and you pointed down to the beer you had just gotten, and smiled. “Two.”

Julia turned around and laughed, grabbing Dylan’s arm and pulling him forward. “I am such an asshole. Y/n, you remember my brother, Dylan, right?”

Dylan reached his hand out to shake yours. You blushed when your skin touched his. You had watched Teen Wolf, The Maze Runner, and The Internship and you always thought he was gorgeous and charming but you never wanted to fan girl out since you knew his sister from college up in Boston. You hoped to god that your makeup had not sweated off and that the orange glow that came off of the tent above did not make you look like a Roald Dahl character.

“I don’t think I ever actually got to meet you, but I’ve heard a billion stories. I’m Y/n.” You shook his hand and smiled.

Dylan went to open his mouth, but his gregarious and excitable sister cut him off and he just chuckled and shook his head. “I guess you never did meet. Well Dyl’s out here for a few weeks staying with me at the house.”

“You guys used to come out here in the summer as kids, right? When you still lived on the East Coast?” You asked, not remembering if you had read that on the internet or if Julia had actually told you.

Dylan smiled and nodded. “Yea, our parents used to rent a beach house in Hampton Bays for a week or two with this other family. I hadn’t been back here in a while. This is not quite what I remember from my childhood though.” Dylan said sarcastically, pursing his lips and looking around the chaos that is Boardy Barn in the beginning of the summer.

Julia leaned forward and whispered into your ear. “Plus, he and his girlfriend of like six years broke up about two months ago and she moved out of their house in Hollywood and he has been moping around like crazy and staying with my parents and just driving everyone nuts so…”

“Change of scenery?” You whispered back.

Julia nodded, and changed the subject when she felt her brother’s eyes boring holes in the back of her head. “Have you heard from Sarah?”

You laughed, practically spilling your drink on yourself as the giggles took over your body. You looked up and saw Dylan smiling at how amused you were by whatever memory the name ‘ _Sarah_ ’ triggered. “Oh god… I have to tell you this story. You’re gonna die.”

Julia leaned up to her brother. “Y/n is Sarah’s best friend. That’s how I know her. We used to hang out all the time.” Julia connected her college roommate to you for Dylan to understand how you two were friends.

“She’s been my best friend since high school, and she’s an idiot, which I’m sure you both know.” Dylan smiled and chuckled, and Julia burst out laughing.

“ _WHAT_  did she do now?”

“Apparently, four days ago, some  _‘hot guy’_  came up to her on the street, at like midnight, in the Bowery, and asked if he could borrow her phone to make a call. She handed it to him, just, you know, here you go, take it, and then he just walked away with it, and she was like, ‘Oh, I’m sure it was just a private conversation.’ But then when he never came back, and she looked around she was like, ‘I think my phone just got stolen’.” You could barely finish the story, you were laughing so hard.

Julia and Dylan were laughing with you. “That sounds exactly like Sarah.” Dylan spoke up.

“That explains why she didn’t answer any of my texts about meeting up today. I thought she was mad at me, but this makes much more sense.” Julia chuckled and shook her head.

“She’s coming out..” You looked down at the time on your phone. “Actually, she should be at Penn Station right now. She got roped into working some event today, but I’m throwing a party after this and she’s staying over. You guys should come.”

Julia looked up at Dylan and then pursed her lips. “We’re here with like six more people though…”

“Bring them. I’m watching my Dad’s house and my dog in East Moriches for the next couple of weeks while he’s on vacation. He bought me so much food and made me, no joke, six pitchers of mojitos, I invited all my friends over. It’ll be fun. I have more than enough booze and food.”

Julia turned and looked at her brother. He raised his eyebrows and nodded. She looked back at you. “We’re in.”

You smiled wide. “Great. Give me your phone…. Here’s the address. We’re leaving here in about an hour, it’s like a $7 taxi or Uber ride, and don’t bother knocking, just come on in.” You smiled, and hugged Julia. “I am so fucking happy that I ran into you.”

“Oh my god, me too. We’ll talk more at your place?” Julia smiled back at you.

“Absolutely. It was nice meeting you finally, Dylan. I’ll see you both later.” You shook his hand and walked away. He watched your bare legs as you made your way through the crowd, back to the people you came with.

“Are you staring at her?” Julia asked, a smirk spreading across her face as she caught her brother.

“Nope.” Dylan took a long swig of his watered down beer and cringed, then followed Julia away from the bar and back to her roommates.

* * *

“DYLAN!” Sarah screamed from across the room, and Dylan’s eyes grew wide and he laughed uncomfortably, as his sister’s college roommate threw her arms around his neck for a hug.

“Oh you’ve been drinking already, huh?” Julia said as she peeled Sarah’s arms off of her little brother who looked incredibly anxious.

“I may have had some drinks on the train…” Sarah swayed and giggled. “I am sooo glad that Y/n ran into you at Boardy, and you guys came here to see me! She’s the best best friend in the world, and you guys are so wonderful. All my favorite people in one room.”

You spotted the interaction taking place, and all of the new people who came with Julia lingering by the front door. You walked over with a mostly empty pitcher of mojito mix and smiled at the group. “You guys came! Come in, come in. The kitchen is over there and there is everything you could ever want to drink. I’m going to fire up the grill in a few hours but uh, yea. Enjoy. You guys are welcome to stay over if you want, I have tons of sleeping bags, couches and air mattresses.”

Julia piped up. “Oh thank you, but Collette is driving and I think we’ll probably head back to our place later, but can I get a mojito in the meantime?” She smiled and followed you into the kitchen.

* * *

“ _Trixie_?" 

Dylan heard a voice coming from inside the house and looked down at the medium sized black dog sitting next to him wagging her tail. He took one last drag from his cigarette and threw it off the balcony into the green grass below. He looked up and saw the few people who were outside smoking with him, walk through one of the many sliding doors back into the house, as you walked past them outside. 

"Hey little muffin, there you are.” The sweet dog wagged her tail up to you and you leaned down to scratch behind her ears. “Oh, you made a new friend, huh?” You looked up at Dylan and smiled, as your dog trotted back over to him.

“She’s really sweet.” Dylan smiled up at you, sitting on one of the many outdoor couches on your deck.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, I just couldn’t find her and I thought someone accidentally let her out or something.“ You walked back towards the doors, smiling at him. "No, Trix, stay with Dylan. Come on, up on the couch.” You snapped your fingers towards the handsome man sitting alone.

“You aren’t bothering me.. I just… I’m not big on parties and I needed a break..” Dylan pet your dog gently and smiled when she nuzzled her nose against his big hand.

You sat on the end of the other side of Trixie and placed your drink on the coffee table. “I get that. I’m not big on partying either.” Dylan raised his eyebrows and smirked. “… which I guess is hard to believe since I am literally currently throwing a rather large party, and you met me at Boardy Barn earlier… I swear I’m not usually like this.” You laughed and a blush rose to your face. “I mean, I like parties where it’s all my friends, but generally, I’m like you, dark corner with the dog.”

Dylan smiled at the kind and beautiful girl sitting next to him. He was enjoying her presence; she was calm and sweet and easy to talk to. He didn’t want her to go back inside to the party, but he struggled to find something interesting to say to her. “Um.. so do you live here year round?”

“Oh, no, this is-” You were cut off by a group of people who came out onto the deck. “Chris, can you guys not do that out here? Can you go out to the parking lot? You know how much I hate that shit.”

“ _Sorry, Y/n_.” The group left the balcony and you glanced back over at Dylan.

“Sorry…” You chuckled quietly. “I just.. I’m not big on cigarettes. They’re kind of vile, you know?”

Dylan nodded in agreement and was suddenly grateful that he had tossed the cigarette he had been smoking over the balcony before you came out and caught him. “Yea, I really don’t know why people our age start doing that in the first place.” Dylan found himself saying, although he had no idea why. He knew why he had started smoking. But he found himself wanting to impress you, wanting to keep your attention, and wanting to continue to make you smile. He was developing  a small crush on the beautiful girl in front of him.

“That’s what I always say. Great minds think alike.” You rolled your eyes at your own stupid joke. “So what are you working on nowadays?”

* * *

You and Dylan made easy conversation for an hour, sitting on the deck alone, neglecting the other partygoers inside, until someone broke something inside and you had to return to your hosting duties. The hour grew later and later and those who were not staying the night, began to leave. Dylan hugged you goodbye and thanked you for a nice night, until Julia approached the two of you.

“So, Collette is sloshed and she drove, cause she’s a dick and decided to drink anyway. Do you know if the taxis run this late?” Julia asked, breaking the news about their designated driver.

“Of course they do, but don’t bother, just stay. I have more than enough space for all of you.”

“You sure? I’m so sorry, Y/n. I can’t believe she got so drunk.” Julia lamented.

You nodded and smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

“In that case, I’m going to keep drinking for a while.” Julia said with a grin.

* * *

Dylan walked out onto the deck and saw you curled up on the couch in an oversized sweatshirt, with a large plaid blanket over your legs, and a glass of wine in your hand. The full moon illuminated the water and the scenery and your face as you turned to see who was coming out. “Am I bugging you?” You shook your head and smiled. “Needed a break?”

“Oh yea. I kind of was hoping to sleep, since it’s almost three in the morning, but whatever.” You chuckled, and scooted over so that Dylan could sit on the couch with you . “I’m sorry you couldn’t go home tonight.”

Dylan shook his head softly and smiled, running his fingers through his grown out hair. You blushed over how much more handsome he was in person than on TV or the internet. “It’s okay. I’ve actually enjoyed myself.”

You yawned, covering your mouth, and trying to stifle the noise, and then saw Dylan yawn in response. You giggled and blushed. “Because of Trixie, I’m sure. She’s really easy to talk to at a party.”

“And you…” Dylan blushed. He let himself think that the small amount of alcohol in his system, the late hour, and the fact that he would likely never see you again after this evening emboldened him to flirt so openly, going completely against his nature. “You definitely made this party bearable for me.”

You blushed heavily and took a sip of your wine. “You made it bearable for me too…” You flirted back.

“But it’s your friends at the party..”

“I know.” You smirked. “And yet, here I am, talking to you again..”

Dylan scratched the back of his neck, his muscles flexing under his tight, white crew neck sweatshirt as he did. He watched you yawn again and fight to keep your eyes open. “Um… it’s still pretty loud in there, do you mind if I stay out here with you.. to sleep?”

You nodded, maintaining your sleepy eye contact and smirk with him. You lifted the blanket covering your feet and watched as he draped it over his legs, which he extended in front of you on the deep couch.  

The two of you talked for a while longer then drifted off to sleep as the moon began to set behind the horizon line.


	2. EMo Inlet Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just Y/n and Dylan getting to know each other more.

You woke up, wrapped up in the blanket from the night before, your hood from your sweatshirt pulled over your head, and the warm, morning sun beginning to beat down on your face. You rubbed the sleep out of the corners of your eyes and glanced at the empty bottle of wine on the ground and the two glasses, with nothing more than red wine stains around the bottom, sitting on the coffee table. Dylan was no where to be found.

You hadn’t heard him get up and you wondered if he had gotten uncomfortable as the night went on and the two of you sat out on the deck alone, drinking and talking and dozing off together on the couch. You sighed and threw your legs over the edge of the couch, ruffled your hair so that it would look presentable, and grabbed the blanket, bottle and glasses.

Dylan, sitting at your dining room table, looked up from his phone when he heard a sliding door open behind him. “Morning….” He felt guilty about leaving you out on the deck, but when he woke up, a half hour before, he couldn’t seem to quiet his thoughts.  _Britt would be so pissed if she saw me doing this. At least, I’d be pissed if I saw Britt doing this. I can’t believe I’m out here, drinking, flirting, and sleeping with a girl that Julia went to college with. I have no idea what to say to her when she wakes up. I have no idea why I decided to come out here in the first place last night…. Yes, I do. She’s really pretty and sweet and funny and nice to talk to. Oh fuck… fuck… I have to get out of here_. So he fled from the couch before you woke up.

“You the only one awake?” You whispered, placing the bottle and glasses in the sink, and glancing over at Dylan. He nodded and stared back at you, his chocolate brown hair was slightly matted on the side, but he was still incredibly handsome. “Have you seen Trixie?” Dylan finally smiled and nodded at you again. Suddenly, you heard a collar jangling under the table. You bent over, glancing between the brown leather chairs, and saw the dog pushing her soft gray body into Dylan’s long fingers. You snickered quietly and smiled back at Dylan. “Well, I think she loves you more than me now.”

Dylan smiled a little more confidently and shook his head. “I’m sure that’s not true, I’m just holding her collar so she can’t love anyone else but me….”

You laughed at his dry delivery and then covered your mouth so as not to wake up any of the sleeping bodies around you. Dylan let go of Trixie and she trotted over to her owner. You rubbed behind her ears and kissed her on the top of the head. Your smile took over your whole face as you looked down lovingly at your dog. “Do you wanna go for a walk, Trickle?” You said, your eyes widening in amusement as the gray dog’s tail began wagging wildly. You glanced up at Dylan and smiled softly. “Do you want to come take her on a walk with me?”

Dylan nodded and stood up from the table, shoving his phone in his pocket, and followed the beautiful y/h/c and sweet gray dog towards the front door, avoiding all of the sleeping people scattered throughout the house. He watched as you slipped your shoes on by the front door, and crouched down to latch the vibrant red leash to Trixie’s collar. He opened the door and watched as you exhaled deeply at the sudden heat coming through the screen door. You pulled the navy blue sweatshirt that you had on over your head, pulling at the tank top that you had on underneath up over your stomach. Dylan tried not to stare at the bits of skin that were suddenly being revealed to him, but he couldn’t help himself.

“You okay?” You asked, smirking as you caught him staring.

Dylan nodded and opened the screen door. “Ladies first…” He watched as you and Trixie walked out the door and he shook his head, embarrassed that he had been caught.

The anxiety that came with the thought that he had made a fool of himself had Dylan scratching his fingers against the square bulge in his pants pocket that held his pack of cigarettes. He wanted the easy fix and relaxation that came with the simple inhale of tobacco. He walked silently next to you for a few minutes, listening to the short whistles and clicks that you made to keep Trixie from wandering into the bushes or pulling on the leash.

You watched as he rubbed his long fingers against his cheek and chin, a nervous tick that you recognized. It caused one of your own nervous ticks to come out, and you began twirling the skinny silver ring around your middle finger. Dylan glanced over and the corner of his mouth curled up slightly, feeling more comfortable that you were nervous too.

“So, Julia said you were in Vietnam…” Dylan broke the silence and glanced over at you, who smiled at the sound of his voice, finally killing the awkward tension.

You nodded and perked your head up to look at him. “I was in Laos, Cambodia and Thailand for about two months, then I was in Vietnam for about a week but I had to come home early. I was supposed to be there for about a month.”

“That’s incredible. I’ve only seen pictures of those places and they’re beautiful. What were you there for? Work?” Dylan asked, rubbing his fingers into his growing beard.

You shook your head and followed Trixie around a corner, walking down the street towards the beach. “No, I work as a part-time paralegal when I’m actually here in New York. But, uh, I’ve been traveling a lot in the past year so, I haven’t actually nailed down a ‘ _real’_  job.“

"What is the ‘real job’ that you want?” Dylan asked, as you leaned over into the grass to get the gift that Trixie had just left behind.

You tied the baggy up and tossed it in a neighbors trashcan, and continued walking towards the beach at the end of the road. “Teacher, I guess… or at least that’s what I thought, but the idea of going back to school to get my Master’s basically gives me a panic attack… that might be part of why I’ve been avoiding all of that with my traveling.”

“I didn’t love school too much either..”

“Julia said you almost went to Syracuse for journalism or something?“

"Broadcasting.” Dylan corrected, watching you take Trixie off the leash when you stepped onto the wet sand.

“Right.. for the Mets?” You grinned. You and Julia used to watch the late parts of the seasons of Mets and Yankees games and yell at each other over which team was better.

“Hell yea.  **LGM** , all day, baby.” Dylan smiled wide, and you laughed.

You laughed and shook your head. “So, what about work for you? Are you working on anything while you’re out here?” You asked, not wanting him to ask you where your New York baseball loyalties fell.

Dylan sat down in the dryer sand up the beach next to you and shook his head, while rubbing his hands together to get the sand off. “No. I just needed a change of pace.. a vacation. I was thinking about taking some projects in New York though. I miss it out here. L.A. can be really superficial and just hard to be in for long periods of time. I love walking around New York too… It’s home, even if I’ve technically lived in California longer. Plus, basically, ninety percent of the time, I can go completely unseen in the city, and don’t get me wrong, I love my fans and I love talking to them, but it’s also nice being-”

“Anonymous?” You finished his thought.

Dylan nodded and pursed his lips. Trixie ran up to the two of you with a stick in her mouth and dropped it at your feet. You threw it and it barely landed in the water. You were a little embarrassed at how bad of a throwing arm you had. Trixie brought it back and left it at your feet again. “Can I?” Dylan asked and you nodded vigorously, not interested in making yourself look like an idiot again. He chucked the stick and it landed far into the water. The dog went racing off after it. You were impressed by his strength and aim. “How come you had to cut your trip short?”

“Hmm?” You hummed, daydreaming about what else he could do with his muscles.

“You said you had to come home from Vietnam early…”

“Oh, yea, uh.. My grandmother got sick, and I am pretty close with her and I have the most flexible schedule of anyone in my family so I came home.”

Dylan’s face frowned and he ignored the wet, black dog standing in front of him waiting for him to throw the stick again. “Is she okay?”

You smiled, picked up the stick and tossed it like a frisbee. The aim was even worse and even Trixie looked embarrassed for you. You chuckled at yourself and turned to Dylan. “She’s a handful, but she’s fine. She had passed out in a parking lot after trying to get her iPad fixed.” You snickered and shook your head. “And it turned out she had a heart thing, and they haven't been sure what it was and she couldn’t, and frankly still isn’t allowed to, drive anywhere, so I was driving her everywhere and taking her to all of these doctor’s appointments and, yea. She’s fine… just very sassy and sick of me hovering, I think.” You laughed again and pushed your heel into the warm sand in front of you.

“She sounds tough, and you’re kind of sassy, so I see where you get it all from.” Dylan flashed a quick, but killer smile at you, then quickly changed the subject from his flirty comment. “You said you were housesitting, so do you not live with your parents here?”

You laughed uncomfortably. “You’re getting all the deep stories from me this morning.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

You shook your head and watched as he tossed the stick even further out into the water. “It’s okay, you didn’t know.” You smiled genuinely and put Dylan back at ease. “My Dad lives here full-time with his… girlfriend, I guess. My Mom, umm, recently moved back to Kansas, where she’s from, after their divorce finalized, cause you know, New York is expensive.. so I live with my older sister and her fiancé in Kew Gardens.. in Queens… I mean, at least when I’m here, I do.” You shrugged and dug your feet further into the warming sand.

“I’m sorry about your parents…. that’s just the roughest.” Dylan felt bad for making you talk about something uncomfortable.

“It’s fine. It is what it is, you know?” Dylan nodded and stared at your feet. “What about your parents? How are they doing? I only met them, like twice, I think, but they were really nice.”

Dylan smiled and nodded. “They’re doing good. I think they miss having me on the West Coast, and it kind of sucks but the week that they’re coming out here to visit Jules and I, I’m only going to be here a few of the days because I have work stuff back in California. But yea, they’re good.”

“What kind of work stuff?” You asked, cocking your head to the side and watching him trace his long fingers in an infinity symbol in the sand between the two of you.

“I have to do San Diego Comic Con for _Teen Wolf_ … although, that’s supposed to be a huge secret so…” You covered your mouth with your hands, indicating that his secret was safe with you, and he smiled. “Then I have the first little bit of  _American Assassin_  press to do, but then I should be back out here until the middle of August.”

You grinned and stared at your clammy hands. You had watched the trailer for  _American Assassin_  probably fifty times when it had come out in April because it looked amazing and Dylan looked very grown up and sexy, and you would never admit that out loud but it was suddenly all you could think about. “Sounds like a fun summer..”

“It could be.. If I knew what to do around here. It’s different from when I came as a kid.” Dylan admitted, as you both began walking back to the house, him now holding Trixie’s leash.

“I mean, there is tons.. I could always show you around or give you recommendations, either here or in the city… if you wanted.”

Dylan nodded and smiled. “That’d be amazing actually. I’m pretty much stuck out here by myself during the week when Jules and my friends from when I was a kid are at work in the City.”

You walked up the stairs and opened the door. People had begun to wake up and walk around the house, mostly seeking water or a phone charger. You spotted Julia and Collette sitting on the couch and waving at you and Dylan as you walked back in. You turned around and watched as Dylan unhooked Trixie’s leash. “Um, here, give me your phone.”

Dylan looked a little surprised, but fished his phone out of his pocket nonetheless and handed it to you. You typed on it quickly and handed it back. He looked at it and then looked up at you. “Your number?”

“For when you want to hang out and not be stuck at the house by yourself all day.” You smiled and Dylan smiled back, clutching his phone in his large, sinewy hands.

“I’ll call you.”

“I look forward to it.” You grinned and blushed back.

“Dyl, you ready to go?” Julia shouted from across the room.

Dylan nodded and looked back at you. “I’ll see you.”

You nodded and smiled and watched him walk out the door followed by Julia, Collette, their other friends.


	3. Main Street, East Hampton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/n is a spaz and Dylan takes care of her, because, you know, he can definitely relate.

You sat in front of your favorite breakfast café on a particularly quiet Wednesday morning on Main Street in East Hampton. The wrist loop for Trixie’s leash sat under the ball of your foot, as you balanced your chair on its back two legs, with only the foot that was covering the leash keeping you upright. You scrolled through your phone, done with the breakfast sandwich in front of you, until you noticed Trixie stand up from under the table.

“What’s up, Trickle?” You asked, noticing the gray dog’s ears perk up. “Trixie..?” You looked up at the sidewalk around you to see if there was another dog that had caught Trixie’s attention. “….Trixie…..?”

With that, Trixie barked excitedly and took off running. The leash slipped from under your foot, throwing your balance off and tipping you backwards. You slammed against the concrete sidewalk underneath you, the metal chair digging into your back and the throbbing pain of cement banging against the back of your head radiated through your body. You stared up at the blue sky above you and all that came to mind was the meme of the dog wearing a bowler hat, in a room on fire, calmly saying ‘ _This is fine._ ’ You sighed and mumbled to yourself, as you rubbed the fast-growing bruise on the back of your skull. “This is fine.”

“Y/n? Holy shit, are you okay?”

You opened your eyes and squinted, just able to make out the male figure above you, blocking out the sun. A hand clasped yours and you felt another hand grasp the metal bar around the back of your chair. “Oh fuck.” You mumbled as you were hoisted back into position “Trixie?” You blinked and rubbed your head, your brow furrowed, looking around for your dog, but your vision was a little spotty.

“She’s right here. I’ve got her leash. Are you okay?”

You opened your eyes, finally focusing on the man crouching in front of you, with his hand on your knee. “Dylan?!”

Dylan smiled and leaned his head in a little. “Are you okay? You went down pretty hard.”

You held your hand against the bump that had already grown on your skull, and nodded, then winced. “Mhmm.. Just.. you know, lost my balance..” Dylan stood and ran his fingers through your hair, parting it in the back. “What exactly are you doing right now?” You asked, staring at his white and green Adidas and Trixie innocently laying by your feet.

“Hold still… I’m checking to see if you’re bleeding.” Dylan gently swept his fingers along your head.

“Well, am I bleeding?”

Dylan crouched back down in front of you and smiled. “No. I think you just bumped it pretty hard.” He looked down at Trixie and rubbed his hand down her back, and laughed as she rolled over to let him rub her belly. Dylan got up and sat in the empty chair at the table, next to you. “What are you doing down here on a Wednesday?” He smiled slightly and poured the water in your glass out on the sidewalk, then gathered the cloth napkin off the table and poured the leftover, melting ice into it. He handed the makeshift ice pack to you and watched as you nodded kindly and pressed it against the back of your head.

“I’m off work and still watching the house and this little Gremlin..” You glanced down at Trixie, who was curled up in the shade under the table. “..and I was kind of sick of our usual morning walk routine, so we rode our bike and ran down here for breakfast, and then, I guess,  _someone_  saw you and got a little excited.” You glanced at Trixie again.

“I’m sorry..” Dylan mumbled.

You shook your head and chuckled. “Just a new kind of fan in Trixie..”

Dylan smiled and laughed. He spotted your bike leaning up against the light pole next to the table. He handed you the wrist loop of Trixie’s leash and stood, Trixie standing at his movement. “Let me drive you home.. It’s the least I can do.”

You nodded and watched Dylan take the handlebars of your white and crimson  _Specialized_  road bike in his hands. You got up from the table and followed him down the sidewalk to a car parked on the street.

“Did you drive or fly out here?” You gestured to the silver Honda CR-V that Dylan was opening the passenger side door to.

“I flew out. This is Jules’ car, but she’s back in the city at work until Thursday night, so I thought I’d drive around a little.. check out the shops around here.”

“You’re bored out of your mind, aren’t you?” You grinned and shook your head, as you stepped into the car.

“I’m so fucking bored.” He laughed and then loaded the bike onto the bike rack on the back of the car. Dylan climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car back to East Moriches. He glanced behind him at a red light and saw Trixie asleep in the backseat and then glanced at you, who was fidgeting with the ring on your finger again. “I, uh… I’m sorry I never called or texted you….”

“It’s okay. You didn’t have to.” You glanced over at him, his left hand gripping the top of the steering wheel and his right hand barely resting on the gearshift.

“I wanted to though.” He kept his eyes on the road, but a pink hue began to cover his mole-freckled cheeks.

“Okay..”

“No, really… I had fun the other night and I just….” Dylan sighed and glanced over at you, immediately looking back at the road when he realized you were looking back at him. “I uh… umm.. I had a really nice time talking to you and hanging out but I am just so perpetually awkward and I didn’t know what to say to get the conversation going over text to ask you to hang out again..”

You laughed over his struggle with words and his cute shyness. “I’ll tell you what. Instead of worrying about texting me, I will just tell you what my plans are and you can decide if they sound fun enough to join. I was going to go paddleboarding at Silly Lilly’s in Center Moriches tomorrow at 10AM. If you want to come, great, if you don’t, that’s also fine, I was planning on going by myself anyway.”

“I’ve never been paddleboarding before.”

“It’s fun. I bet you’d like it.” You unbuckled your seatbelt as you saw Dylan pull into the driveway of your Dad’s house. “Well, thanks for the ride, and the giant bruise on the head.” You teased him, as you went to grab the door handle.

“Are you okay though, actually?” Dylan asked, also getting out of the car to unload your bike off the back.

You closed the back door and Trixie headed for the stairs to the house, looking forward to getting inside and continuing her nap. You rolled your eyes at your dog and then watched as the muscles in Dylan’s arms flexed when he lifted your bike. “Mhmm.. just hurts a little. I’m fine.”

“Um… Garage?” He asked, referring to the bike. You nodded and he followed you towards the garage, where you kept your bicycle. “What were your plans for the rest of today?” Dylan asked, awkwardly standing in the middle of the garage, watching you lean your bike up against a back wall.

“Nothing much. I was going to just hang out around here… Uh, take the little demon for a walk later. Everyone is at work and I didn’t really have plans.” You said, helping him to close the broken garage door.

“Um, do you mind if I hang out with you? I’m sort of afraid that you have a concussion and I feel like you shouldn’t be alone all day.” That was only a half truth. Dylan also had been thinking about you since he met you on Sunday, and he wanted to spend some more time with you.

You smiled and felt butterflies suddenly fill your stomach. You knew that your face was filling with a deep red blush. “I mean, I doubt I have a concussion, but if you really want to watch me watch  _Game of Thrones_  all day, that’s fine.”

“Let me just park the car better and I’ll be right up.” Dylan said with a shy smile, not missing a beat to accept your invitation.

* * *

“I can’t believe you’ve never watched this before. Wasn’t Thomas Brodie-Sangster in  _The Maze Runner_  with you?!” You glared at him teasingly, and shook your head.

Dylan laughed and shrugged. “It was just one of those things. I never had anyone sit me down and make me watch it.”

“Pfff. Until now. Jojen is going to be so happy to know that you finally get to see him in  _Thrones_.”

“I should text Thomas and tell him. He’ll definitely be stoked.” Dylan pulled his phone off the white cushion, on the L-shaped couch he was sitting on upstairs in the living room loft of your Dad’s house.

“I mean, we don’t meet him for like many more seasons though, so….”

“Oh.. then nevermind…” Dylan laughed and put his phone back down, smiling bashfully at you. “How’s your head?”

“It’s fine.. Can you pay attention? I am not going to explain things to you because you aren’t watching.” You laughed. You would definitely explain anything he ever asked.

“Okay, fine, sorry. But wait… okay, isn’t that his sister? Why is he like touching her tit. That’s so fucking weird, Y/n.” Dylan winced at the TV.

You laughed even harder. “Because Viserys is the  _WORST_. He’s such a creepy dude. You aren’t supposed to like him. You’re supposed to love her.”

“I do.”

“Shut up.” You grinned, but also actually felt a pang of jealousy towards Emilia Clarke. You were definitely harboring a huge crush on Dylan, and he just admitted that he thought that the woman on the TV was hot. Normally, that’d be fine, but he was a celebrity, himself, and he knew people that knew Emilia. In your head, if Dylan wanted her, he could probably have her. You slumped into your couch further, pressing the bump on the back of your head a little too hard on the cushion behind you. “Ow.” You quietly whispered and brought your hand up to your head.

“Shit…” Dylan crawled over Trixie, and the distance between the two of you, on the couch, and kneeled next to you. He gently pressed his fingers into the back of your head, causing you to wince. “The bump has definitely gotten bigger.”

“I’ll grab a new ice pack.” You said weakly, trying to maintain your composure at his touch.

“No. Pause this. Give me this.” Dylan leaned over you and grabbed the warm ice pack from the cushion next to you. You bit your lip, intoxicated by his closeness. “I’ll be right back with a new ice pack.”

“Thanks, Dylan…” You said quietly, causing him to smile and turn around before fully leaving the room to head downstairs to the kitchen.

“Of course..” He rubbed at the back of his neck and then turned around and walked downstairs.

* * *

You had watched seven hours of the first season of  _Game of Thrones_ , with Dylan sitting closer to you than in the first episode. You kept your hands free and easy to hold, just in case, but he never took the initiative. He had gone downstairs in between the fourth and fifth episodes to grab something from his car, and got stuck talking to your downstairs neighbor, Mikey, who recognized him from the  _American Assassin_  trailers, and he came back smelling like Mikey’s menthol cigarettes. You decided to sit on the further side of the couch, away from Dylan, until the smell subsided off his clothes. You apologized profusely for Mikey. He was an odd guy. You both took a break from  _GOT_  around dinner time and ordered Chinese from the shitty place in Eastport. You suffered through the half-assed dumplings that came with ordering from a shitty delivery place in Suffolk County.

* * *

“I’m allowed to sleep at night even if I have a concussion, right?” You said, through a yawn.

Dylan half-smiled at you, glancing at the late hour on the clock. You had just finished up the last episode of the first season of  _Game of Thrones_. The two of you had spent more than ten hours together that day. He nodded. “Yea, but if you could text me when you wake up, so I know you woke up and didn’t, like, die, that’d be nice.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Do people die from concussions?”

“No! No.. shit.” Dylan laughed. He didn’t mean to worry you. “You’ll be fine. But you’re obviously tired, and it’s late, so I should go. I’ll take Trixie out.”

“You really don’t have to do that…” You shook your head and began to get up from the lying position you were in on the couch.

“Already done.” Dylan said as he got Trixie off the couch and began heading down the stairs to the front door.

* * *

He saw you sitting on the bottom step, waiting, when he walked up to the screen door with your dog. He released Trixie’s leash from her collar and watched her run up to you at the stairs. You petted the dog lightly on the head, and then turned your attention back to the handsome man in front of you, digging his fingers into his stubble.

“Thank you for today. I hope you didn’t hate  _Game of Thrones_ …..” You smiled lightly.

Dylan smiled back, and shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “I actually really liked it. Maybe we can start the second season some time soon.. the next rainy day when you’re not busy…”

“Or the next time I potentially have a concussion.” You joked. “I should get one of those more often.”

Dylan’s smile faded. “Please don’t.”

You felt your cheeks warm with embarrassment and you tried to smile through your blush. “I’ll do my best.” You rubbed the side of your arm awkwardly. “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow morning at Silly Lilly’s.”

“10AM?” He asked, and you nodded. “Do you need a ride?”

You shook your head. “I always ride my bike. It’s so close. Thanks though.” Dylan nodded and smiled. “I’ll see you later.” You reached up to hug him, and he awkwardly hugged you back.

“Text me if you need anything.” He said as he backed out of the screen door, gently closing it in between the two of you.

“I don’t have your number, Dylan. You still only have mine…” You reminded him nervously. He smiled and shrugged and began walking down the steps.

“Goodnight.”

You waved and felt like you had made a fool of yourself. You closed the wooden front door and locked it, then leaned up against it, staring down at Trixie. “Shit.”

You felt your phone vibrate in your hand and you looked down at the text message from an unknown number. Your heart began to race.

“ _Now you have my number too. Thanks for a fun day. I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Y/n, and seriously, please text me when you wake up so I don’t worry.._.”

“Oh shit..” You were in so much trouble with this boy.


	4. Silly Lilly's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan shows up to go paddle boarding with Y/n. Then he treats her to lunch and asks her to hang out again.

It was 9:50, and Dylan had gotten to Silly Lilly’s, a boat, fishing gear and water equipment rental shop in Center Moriches, earlier than you. Jay, one of the owners of the shop, had been outside smoking his morning cigarette when Dylan pulled up in Julia’s car. He recognized Dylan from _Deepwater Horizon_ and the new red band trailer of _American Assassin_ that he had been shown by his partner earlier that week. He had struck up a conversation with Dylan and offered him a smoke, which Dylan happily accepted as he was nervous about whether or not this was a date and he needed to calm down.

He kept glancing behind him, and then down at his watch to check the time, and see if you were coming. He finally spotted you, wind blowing through your hair as you rode down the end of the gravel road on your bike. He quickly threw his cigarette butt on the ground, and covered it with the small rocks under his feet. He sniffed his shirt and rolled his eyes. He wished that someone had come up with a cigarette that didn’t let the stench stick to your clothes so much.

Jay glanced behind his shoulder at what Dylan had become distracted by and smiled. “You didn’t say it was Y/n Y/L/N you were meeting. Her Dad is a good buddy of mine.”

“Shit.. uh, hey, man.. Do you mind not mentioning that I was smoking with you? I might really like her and she does not like the smoking.” Dylan shifted uncomfortably at having to talk so personally with a stranger.

Jay laughed and stuck his hand out to shake Dylan’s. “You got it, bro.”

“Hey, Jay, hey Dylan.. You actually showed up.” You teased with a big smile, as you dismounted your bike and pulled at the kickstand with your foot.

“Hey sweety, how was ‘Naaaam?” Jay asked with a smile, hugging you as you approached.

“Too short. I didn’t get to go to that temple you were telling me about. Next time. I have every intention of going back. _Oh_ and I brought you and Tom something from my Dad….” You swung your gray backpack around to your front, unzipped it, and pulled out a jar of jam. Dylan smirked and snickered quietly to himself, as that was not in the realm of what he was expecting you to hand to Jay.

“Oh god, which is this? Come on inside so I can give you the old jar to give back to John.” Jay said, as he led you and Dylan inside the small yellow, white and blue bungalow.

“It’s peach and triple ginger. It’s my current favorite of his. It’s really effing good.” You explained and Dylan found himself smiling again at the way that your version of not cursing in front of adults was saying the PG-13 version of the cuss. You glanced up at him and smiled, and he smiled bashfully back, before breaking the prolonged eye contact and glancing down at his shoes.

“Tom’s gonna be so excited. Thank your Dad for me. So, anyway, what are you guys doing today?” Jay asked, leaning over the other side of the counter.

“I’m going to paddleboard, I think, but Dylan, do you want to do that or kayak?” You asked.

“Have you ever gone paddleboarding before?” Jay asked Dylan, who shook his head. “Oh, then you’ve gotta do that. It’s gonna be a piece of cake for someone as fit as you.”

“I guess we’re both paddleboarding then.” Dylan’s mouth tugged up in the right corner at you.

“Alright, that’s $34 for you, Dylan.” Jay said with a smirk.

“For both of us?”

“No, she get’s to rent for free, she brings me jam. You’re a movie star though, you can pay.” Jay chuckled, and allowed his mischievous smile to take over his face.

“Jay!”

“Alright, alright, you can both be free rides today if you let me take a snap with you outside in front of the sign and sign the printed version so I can hang it behind the register when you come back inside. Good for business.”

“ _Jay_ …” You said with a more serious tone, embarrassed by your Dad’s friend for putting Dylan on the spot.

Dylan laughed, with a slight discomfort that only you picked up on, and rubbed the side of your arm sweetly, letting you know it was not a big deal. It was part of the job. “It’s okay. I can totally do that, man.”

* * *

Dylan got the hang of the paddleboard quickly, but feigned a fall off, into the water, early on, because in his head, it was better to smell like saltwater than cigarette smoke when he was hanging out with you. You paddled over quickly when you saw him go down and laughed as he climbed back onto the board, and got back on his feet. You handed him the oar that you had fished out of the water next to his board. 

"Thanks." Dylan smiled, trying to look only at your face and not stare at your body in your skimpy swimsuit. 

"I thought you'd be better at this, since you're so..." You gestured up and down at his ripped, post- _American Assassin_ body. Dylan smirked and raised an eyebrow at you struggling to find the right words. "Um.. athletic.." 

"Haven't quite gotten the hang of it yet, I guess." Dylan couldn't wipe the smirk off of his face. 

"Guess it sucks to suck." You grinned, slowly paddling away. 

Dylan quickly caught up next to you and you stopped to look at him. "Oh, sucks to suck, huh?" Dylan picked up his paddle and pushed your board slightly away. 

You tilted your head to the side, and playfully narrowed your eyes at him. "You wouldn't."

" _Sucks to suck."_ Dylan repeated before pushing you off off the board with his oar. You pulled on his paddle as you fell, successfully pulling him into the water as well. Dylan swam under your board and popped his head up next to yours. He wiped his medium length hair off his forehead, and began to tread water next to you. "You okay?" He asked, smiling, and sinking just his closed mouth and chin back under the still saltwater of the inlet. 

"Mhmm." You smirked and then splashed the top half of Dylan's face with water.

"Oh... you're dead."

* * *

"Yea, can we sit outside? Since someone dunked me into the water and I didn't bring a towel...." You grinned at Dylan and he bashfully smiled at you, glancing up and down at your body. You still only had a bikini top on, and you had put your running shorts and shoes back on, but you were pretty wet still.

"Absolutely. Follow me." The waiter said to you, and brought you to a table at the patio. "I'll be right back out with menus and water."

Dylan smiled at the waiter and turned back to you, placing your backpack on one of the empty chairs and pulling out the chair opposite of his. "Hey, uh, I'm sorry I pushed you in."

"It's fine. I was just giving you shit." You smiled.

"No, here.." Dylan pulled his t-shirt off and handed it to you. You bit your lower lip softly, as you watched his shirt come off. Up close, you could really see the veins bulging from his arms, the cuts going from his hip bones towards the happy trail under his belly button, and disappearing beneath his black swim trunks. There were subtle outlines of abs peeking out from under his tanning skin. She stared at the tuft of hair in between his pectoral muscles, and then you stared at his pectoral muscles.

"What?" You said, blinking finally and staring up at Dylan, who was wearing a grin from ear to ear.

"Are you going to sit?"

You rolled your lips together and in towards your mouth and curled the corners up. "Mhmm." You pulled your shorts off and hung them on the back of the empty chair. Dylan stared at your legs and ass and stomach and breasts as you lifted your arms up and slipped his shirt on. "Thanks."

"Absolutely." Dylan smiled and took a sip of the water that the waiter had brought out. "So what's good here?"

"Do you like lobster?" Dylan nodded. "Then you have to get the lobster roll. It's killer."

"You two ready to order some drinks?" The waiter came over with his pad and pencil.

"I think we're just ready to order actually, right?" You told him and glanced at Dylan, slipping your sunglasses on as you squinted up at the waiter.

"Yea, two lobster rolls, a Stella and..?" 

You smiled. You kind of liked that he ordered for you. That was something that your domineering personality tended to do with other people often, but you were fine taking the backseat to Dylan. "A Corona with lime, please... and thank you." You flashed a smile at the waiter, and Dylan smirked at how polite you were. 

"You got it." The waiter walked back inside. 

"So, did you like paddleboarding?"

Dylan nodded and smiled. "A lot. Thank you for inviting me." 

"Of course. I'm glad you came."

* * *

 "How is it?" You asked, taking a sip of your cold beer and watching Dylan tilt his head horizontally to take a large bite of his lobster roll.

He began to chew and then his eyebrows furrowed together and he began nodding. He brought his napkin up to his mouth and wiped the remnants off his chin and smiled. "That is so fucking good. You were totally right. I can't even remember the last time I had lobster either." He went in for another bite and you smirked.

"See! The perks of being on vacation." 

Dylan nodded, chewing fast so he could talk, and took a swig of his Stella Artois to wash the food down easier. "Yea, it's nice to be on a vacation that's actually a vacation."

"What do you mean?" You asked before taking a bite of your own lunch. 

Dylan took another sip of his beer and leaned back in his chair, the hot metal warm against his bare back. He breathed deeply and exhaled before talking again. "Uh... You had already graduated, so I'm sure Jules didn't tell you about it, but last March I was filming a movie and was doing a stunt that involved some moving cars and basically the stunt went really bad and I ended up in the hospital for, like, six days."

"I read about that." You didn't feel like lying to him and acting like you knew nothing about him; he was opening up to you and telling you personal things about himself and you wanted to be open right back. "I texted Julia while you were there to see how you were and how she was.." Dylan smiled with his eyes at you, as he took a sip of his beer. You found yourself reaching over to his face and brushing the tip of your pointer finger against the top of his sweet and adorable upturned nose. "Is that how you got this little scar?" 

Dylan nodded and rubbed his fingers against his stubbly jaw. Recalling the experience gave him a lot of anxiety. "Yea, I'm lucky that's all I was left with from it, but I had really good doctors, so.." Dylan shrugged and leaned his elbows against the table, staring straight up at you. "Basically, I spent all of last summer, up until the filming started in September for American Assassin, just sitting on my couch and not really leaving my house and not working and being pretty depressed and.." He trailed off and shook his head, staring at his empty plate in front of him. He looked back up at you, a small smile, meant to comfort you more than to convey happiness, settled on his lips. "So, automatically, this summer vacation is a thousand times better."

"Glad I could help." You smiled bashfully, looking down at your fingers around the neck of your beer bottle, dripping with condensation through the slots in the table and down by the gravel under your bare feet. "Are you excited to get back to work? Have anything lined up now that Teen Wolf is over?"

Dylan sighed again. "Asking all the tough questions today." He smiled more genuinely at you, a reminder that he was just joking. "I have Comic Con next month for Teen Wo-" Dylan stopped mid-word and his eyes got big. "That's supposed to be a huge secret, please don't tell anyone about that."

You smiled, laughed and nodded. "Does Twitter count as telling someone?" You teased, playfully cocking your head to the side. Dylan's eyes got wide and he took a large swig of his almost empty beer. You bit your lower lip and smirked. "I won't tell a soul. I promise."

"Thanks. Posey bet that I couldn't keep that a secret for long." Dylan grinned and shook his head, killing the last of his beer. 

"You gonna miss him?" You asked, leaning your left elbow against the table, and resting your cheek against your balled up fist as you stared at the handsome man across the table. 

Dylan nodded. "Honestly? I've been having horrible anxiety about the show being done. I spent so long with those people, and they are like my family and I just.. a lot is changing right now, I guess. It's just.."

"It sounds scary." You interrupted him as he struggled for the word that rolled off your tongue. 

"It is. It was a constant, and now it's gone... and then, you know, Maze Runner is ending as well, and I'm just trying to figure out what my next move is."

"Well, I mean, American Assassin will probably turn into a series, right? Like, Jason Bourne or James Bond or something." You questioned, hoping to make him feel better. 

Dylan nodded his head to the side. "I hope. That's the plan, but I wouldn't make one of those every year, you know? So, I have to find stuff to do in between."

"Have anything lined up yet?" You asked, while signaling to the waiter for the check from across the patio. 

Dylan shook his head and took his wallet out. "Something, maybe. I've been talking to my agent about it, but we'll see."

"What is it?"

Dylan grinned and shook his head. "I can't tell you."

"Where's the fun in that?" You asked, a smirk spreading across your face, as you stared at the way his lips shined in the sun after he licked them lightly. 

"Seeing you squirm like that is a little fun for me." Dylan admitted, flirting.

"You're such a tease." You whispered, as the waiter brought the check over to hand to you, since you were the one that asked for it. 

Dylan took it out of the waiter's hand before you could touch the black book the receipt sat inside of. He stuck his credit card inside and handed it back to the waiter. "It's on me."

This action left you more than a little confused. You decided to protest a little. "Dylan, I can't let you... at least let me pay for my half." You reached over to your backpack to grab your wallet. 

Dylan placed his hand over yours, his hot and sweaty skin sticking to the top of your wrist, and you felt the breath hitch in the back of your throat. "It's on me." He repeated with a smile. 

You glanced down, his hand still resting on the back of yours, and you felt the blood rush to your face. "Thanks. That's sweet of you." 

"Thanks for dining with us, I hope you both come again." The waiter interrupted your moment, and suddenly your hand felt cold, as the gentle breeze blew over the cool sweat that came with Dylan's skin touching yours in the heat of late June.

The loss of contact left you defeated as he closed the receipt book and walked with you over to Julia's car. You got inside, your bike on the rack attached to the trunk, and he began the five minute ride back to your house. Your head was becoming dizzy with all the thoughts and questions that were running through it, until Dylan interrupted your internal meltdown with his voice. "Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

"Um, not really." 

"I'm sure that you'll hear from Julia tonight, I'm pretty sure she hasn't invited anyone yet, but she's throwing a party at the house and  _I_ wanted to know if you wanted to come." Dylan asked, tapping his hand against the bottom of the steering wheel nervously. 

You opened your mouth to answer and then closed it, struggling with what to say first. Dylan pulled onto your street and you finally spoke, mere moments feeling like an eternity. "Um, does Julia know that you and I have hung out a couple times?" You asked, apprehensively, not wanting to seem presumptuous. 

"I haven't told her.. I didn't know if I should..."

"So, it would be maybe weird if I showed up tomorrow because you invited me.." 

"I know you're on the guest list, she told me.. I just wanted to be the one to invite you... because I don't think I'd have that much fun if you weren't there to hang out with." Dylan admitted, staring straight at your closed garage door. 

"Okay, then I'll be there." You were happy at what he admitted, but at that point, you were even more confused about what was happening between the two of you. You liked him. In fact, you weren't sure what there was not to like about him. But you were completely in your own head about what he was thinking. 

"Good... Um, I wanna keep hanging out but I have to go to the grocery store and then pick Julia up from the train station." Dylan admitted, his eyes a little sadder suddenly as they made contact with yours.

You nodded reassuringly, to whom, you weren't sure. "It's okay. I'll just see you later."

Dylan nodded with a slight smile, got out of the car, and pulled your bike off the rack. You pulled the garage door open for him and he wheeled your bicycle to the back where he saw you leave it the day before. He paused by the landing of the stairs that led to your front door and looked at you, scratching the back of his neck. You watched his muscles ripple as he did so and realized something. 

"Oh my god, your shirt." You laughed and began pulling it off. 

"No, no, it's okay. Keep it. I have an extra in the backseat from the beach the other day. You can give it to me tomorrow when you come to the party." Dylan grinned. 

"Well, now I have to come..." You teased. 

"I hope. I'll see you tomorrow." Dylan stepped forward, and you stared, and then suddenly felt his arms wrap around you in a quick, but tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him, and all you felt was warm skin and tight muscles. You barely breathed as he embraced you. He finally broke the hug and stepped back, slowly walking towards his car. "Tomorrow..." He reminded you. 

"Oh my god, YES. I will be there. I'll see you tomorrow." You grinned, a bright red hue staining your cheeks. You waved and walked up the stairs as he drove away. 

* * *

 

 **Julia O'Brien** : _party tomorrow at my place. 9ish. byor_

 **You** : _bring your own rosé?_

 **Julia** **O'Brien** : _you just get me, Y/n_

 **Sarah** **Wells** : _FUCK YES, LADIES. I WILL SEE YOU BOTH TOMORROW_.

You laughed at your best friend and closed your phone. You held it for a few extra moments wondering if you should text Dylan to tell him that you were definitely going now, but you didn't. Your screen lit up and you rolled your eyes, assuming it was still Sarah or Julia in the group chat. It wasn't.

 **Dylan** **O'Brien** : _So I heard you got the invite..._

 **You** : _Mhmm. Looks like I'm actually going to a party tomorrow!_

 **Dylan** **O'Brien** : _I can't wait. Goodnight, Y/n. Thanks for today. :)_

Your heart swelled up and you squeled, causing Trixie to look up from her slumber in annoyance. You giggled at your dog and thought of what to say. You decided you wanted to try something new.

 **You** : _Anytime. Goodnight, Dyl. :)_


	5. Doug's 2015 Nissan Sentra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julia has a party at her house and invites you, but you are really going to see Dylan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0DvjgagJko  
> cavalier
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHhuFwTjYBI  
> true care

"Why are you being weird?"

"I"m not being weird. What am I doing right now that is me being weird?" You looked back at Sarah, your best friend from college and Julia O'Brien's college roommate.

"That is like the fifth time you've checked your makeup in the mirror." Sarah said with a grin. 

"No, it's not." You rolled your eyes, and pushed the visor back up against the roof of the car. 

"David, she's looked like five times, right?!" Sarah said, her words slurring slightly as she had pre-gamed at your house before leaving while you were getting ready. 

You glanced over at your Uber driver and he contorted his face. "It's Doug, for the third time... and yea, you kind of have checked a lot."

"Who's supposed to be at this party that has you being so weird? Is Mike gonna be there?"

"I fucking hope not." You looked horrified and disgusted at the thought of your ex showing up at the same place as you that night. You turned around and looked at your drunk best friend. "You're drunk and I'm not being weird but now you're making me feel weird and you're gonna give me an anxiety attack and I'm gonna make Doug turn around and drive me home and then-"

"OKAY. I'm sorry. You're not being weird. Just please stop. You're killing my buzz." 

You grinned at Doug. You knew that would get Sarah off your case. She always felt guilty when you were on the verge of an anxiety attack.

* * *

 

You looked around the expansive living room of the large beach house that Julia and her friends were renting for the summer, scanning for Dylan but not seeing any sight of him. It was Friday night on the east end of Long Island and it seemed like all of the city dwellers had may there way out of Manhattan to attend Julia's party. You thought about texting him to see if he was around but your thought was squashed the moment you heard your name. You threw your phone in your purse, and heard it clink against the extra bottle of rosé that you had inside, laying on top of Dylan's t-shirt. You glanced down to make sure it didn't break and spill, which it hadn't, and then felt a pair of arms wrap around your neck. 

"I'm so glad you're both here, and you brought rosé!" Julia yelled over the loud music. 

"I brought you a bottle because I wasn't expecting it to be this kind of party but.. yea, I brought you one too." You smiled and handed her the Wölffer's Estate rosé bottle in your hand and her eyes widened, and she hugged you again to thank you.

"Yea, it wasn't necessarily supposed to be this kind of party, at least not this many people, but Collette ran into these townies on the train or something and invited them and like a single person said Dylan was here to someone else apparently and this place just got really packed. So, I'm drinking to not worry about it until tomorrow when we have to clean." Julia put her best fake grin on her face and you laughed. 

"Why don't you just throw them all out?" You asked, handing Sarah your other bottle from your bag to open and pour. 

"It'd be too much trouble to do that at this point and I just don't really care. Plus some of the girls are really cute so....." Julia grinned more genuinely this time, and then tilted her head to the side, as she took a sip out of her wine glass. "I just feel bad for Dyldawg. I saw him duck out onto the deck upstairs a little while ago to get away from the crowd but I'm sure someone has found him and is begging for a selfie by now." You contorted your mouth to the side and thought of excuses that would allow you to slip upstairs, but Julia excused herself first to go hit on a girl in high waisted jean shorts and a crop top. 

"Shot first, rosé after." Sarah handed you a red Solo cup with at least two shots of tequila in it and held her own Solo cup to cheers. You rolled your eyes and clinked your plastic cups and then threw back the shots. They burned down your throat and you washed them down with the rosé in your glass. "Come on, boo, you have gotta catch up. I am not letting you flirt with any of these cute boys until you let me refill your glass." 

"Why are you trying to get me to vomit tonight? What is wrong with you?" You shook your head and laughed at your best friend.

"I'm just trying to get you some dick, because I love you and you have that fucking beach house to yourself for just one more night; your dad comes home tomorrow night, and if you don't get your shit taken care of before he does, I'm gonna kill you for being wasteful." Sarah was blunt and hilarious and serious and always your corrupting force, ever since you met her on the first day of Freshman Year of high school.

Your snicker turned into full blown laughter, so loud that you had to put down your drink and cover your mouth just to stifle the noise. "Oh my god, Sare... You are out of fucking control."

"Drink, bitch." She handed you your glass back, waited for you to chug the mid-priced local wine, and then refilled your glass, fuller the second time. 

* * *

Sarah got distracted by a cute guy and ran off, giving you the perfect getaway to go find Dylan. He was upstairs on the deck, exactly where Julia said he was, chainsmoking cigarettes, nervous to see you and anxious to be in such a big crowd of strangers. He had every intention of finishing his last cigarette, going back inside, taking a shower and changing his clothes to get the smell off of him before he saw you, but that was thirty minutes ago and in that time one of the townie girls had found him and was hitting on him and holding him hostage, while she bummed his last two smokes. He fidgeted uncomfortably and glanced down at his phone. It was 9:45 and there was just no way that if you were coming, that you weren't already there. Dylan typed a quick message and then looked back at the girl in front of him, and smiled softly and quickly, trying not to be rude. 

 **Dylan O'Brien:** _Did you ditch me?_

Your heart sank when you saw Dylan out on the deck with a pretty girl who was clearly flirting with him. You saw him smile through the window and turned around, completely defeated. You headed back to your purse, which you had left in an empty room that you hoped was Julia's, and had every intention of calling Doug, the Uber driver, back to come bring you home. You picked up your phone and saw you had two messages from Dylan. Your heart began to race. You opened them up to read. 

 **Dylan O'Brien:** _Did you ditch me?_

 **Dylan O'Brien:**   _If you're here, come up to the deck on the second floor in the back, and save me from this girl. Please._

The smile that overtook your face was huge, and you shoved your phone in the back pocket of your high waisted jeans. You pulled the sleeves of your shoulderless, powder blue crop top down on your arms and checked your hair in the mirror you had passed. You looked really good, and even if you didn't, the alcohol was sinking in and you felt good. You opened the door of the deck and contorted your face over the overwhelming smell of cigarette smoke that suddenly entered the house. Dylan's face lit up when he saw you.

"Oh my god, Dylan, thank god you're here, Julia has been looking everywhere for you. She needs you downstairs right now." You lied, feigning urgency. 

Dylan turned to the girl in front of him and pursed his perfect pink lips. "I'm sorry, I have to go. It was so nice to meet you." He leaned down and hugged the girl briefly, then walked out after you, closing the door behind him. "Hi." 

You looked up at him and blushed. "Hi." 

"Come on, before someone else abducts me." Dylan grabbed your hand and led you downstairs to a backroom with a bar, that was less crowded, and filled with the aroma of weed. "What are you drinking?" 

"Rosé because that's what your sister told Sarah and I to bring." 

Dylan laughed and rolled his eyes. "Of course she did. I'm gonna stick with beer, but... here." He pulled a pink bottle out of the wine fridge and handed it to you. "And these." He grabbed two plastic bottles of water in between his long fingers, and grabbed your wrist again, pulling you behind him. 

"STILES?!" A girl screamed from across the room. 

"Nope!" He yelled back with a grin and began walking faster out of the room and back up the stairs. You laughed at his dry sense of humor and followed him down a hall to a room that had all it's lights out. He flipped the switch next to the door and the lights came on, revealing a medium sized bedroom with a queen sized bed in the middle covered in blue sheets that were disheveled. He locked the door behind him and turned to you, putting his hand out to gesture to the room. "Mi casa.. mi verano casa."

"Your summer house?" You asked, assuming that's what 'verano' meant. Dylan nodded with a smile and you laughed. "So thanks for the bottle but uh..." 

"Oh fuck. Oh shit, okay, if I'm not back in one minute, send out the search parties." Dylan joked, as he walked back towards the door. 

"Wait!" You laughed at his joke. "Wait, I left my purse in Julia's room, and I have a swiss army knife in it, that has a corkscrew. I'll be right back." 

Dylan licked his lips and nodded. "I'm gonna hop in the shower and change really quick to get the smoke.. yea. I'll be right back out." Dylan grabbed a change of clothes he already had waiting off of his dressed, walked backwards, a blush covering his cheeks, towards a door to the left of the bed, and flicked on the light, revealing an attached bathroom. 

* * *

You walked around Dylan's room, looking at the few personal items he had out, drinking straight from the large wine bottle since Dylan neglected to get you a glass. You were feeling well past tipsy at that point, but you were so nervous to be in a bedroom with Dylan O'Brien that you just kept sipping. 

"So, Dyl, huh?" 

You turned around and saw Dylan in a black t-shirt and gray slacks, rubbing a towel through his perfect chocolate brown hair. He was holding up his phone and had a huge grin on his lips. You blushed furiously, and watched him pop open his beer bottle, on the counter in the bathroom, before shutting off the light behind him. "Too soon for nicknames?" 

Dylan walked closer to you, only to see you walk passed him, over to the bed, and sit down at the foot. He smiled and shook his head, also clearly a little drunk himself. "Nah, no... I liked it." He took a large sip of his beer and sat down next to you on the bed. "I realized last night that I never asked how your head was doing."

"My head?" You had completely and totally forgotten about how you had slammed your head against the sidewalk in East Hampton two days before and that was the catalyst for you and Dylan now seeing each other three days in a row. 

Dylan chuckled. "So long-term memory loss. That's good... Your head, silly." He carefully ran his fingers up to the back of your head and searched under your hair for where the bump still just barely was. 

"Oh, my head..." You reached your fingers back instinctively, touching his as you did, and you both pulled away. "I feel fine. Doesn't hurt anymore, clearly." You smiled and stared down at the bottle in your hand. 

"Good." You got up, took another big swig of the wine and then placed it on Dylan's dresser, throwing a few tissues under it to absorb the condensation so that a ring wouldn't form on the wood. "Thank you for saving me from that girl.. She was, no joke, talking to me about her nipple piercings, and I was so uncomfortable. My fans are getting older and they're getting weird." Dylan laughed, taking a sip of his beer, and then laying back on the bed, his beer resting on his toned stomach and his feet still touching the plush, white carpet underneath them. "Holy fuck, I hate this song." Dylan complained as  _Despacito_ began to lightly play through the wooden door from downstairs. 

"Not a Belieber?" You teased, still leaning against the dresser, watching him. 

Dylan shook his head and reached into his pocket. He opened his phone and then sighed. "Shit, and I just got a new phone and haven't put any of my music on it yet. Guess I've gotta crack out the laptop."

"I have music on my phone..." You intervened. 

"There's a dock right there." Dylan pointed behind you on the dresser, and you latched your phone in it.

"What do you want to listen to?" You asked.

"Something.. completely opposite of this. Something chill, if you have it." Dylan needed something other than the beer to calm his nerves back down.

"I have that." You smiled, then pressed play.

The soft mumblings of the man singing began to lightly drown out Justin Bieber fumbling the Spanish language downstairs. "Do you want to go back downstairs?" Dylan asked you. 

"No, why? Do you?" 

Dylan shook his head quickly, sitting up slightly to look at you. "You're just... you're all the way over there..." Dylan sat up fully, a slow blush rising to his cheeks. He took another sip of his beer, then placed it on the ground next to the bed. 

"Sorry, just.." You didn't want to tell him that your nerves were electrified and you were nervous about what the fuck was going on between the two of you, and what could happen if you sat down next to him on his bed. You sat down next to him anyway. "Better?"

Dylan leaned forward and smiled. "Yea." He watched you assume his former position, laying down on the bed with one hand at the side of your thigh, and the other folded across your stomach. He decided to lay down again too in the same position. His free hand sat electrifyingly close to yours on top of the blue duvet cover, which he had straightened out slightly while you picked music. "So who is this?" Dylan asked as the music picked up suddenly and drowned out all the noises from the party below. 

_"True care. What does that even mean? I need true care. When I was 17, yea, true care. How do you even show true care? When I was 23 years old, you show me true care then. When you showed up to a house where I was drinking by myself.."_

"James Vincent McMorrow.. He's an Irish singer/songwriter that I've been listening to for years." You had played him for a reason. He tended to lean towards the bluesier, sexier side of the musical spectrum and you were drunkenly trying to create a mood. "I saw him live in November on last year and he was phenomenal. This stuff is all new though."

" _Im uncomfortable, with being so uncomfortable. You let me be unreasonable with everyone. Show me true care. True care. True Care._ "

Dylan smiled because you were smiling and closing your eyes and listening to someone you were clearly passionate about."He's good. This was kind of exactly the kind of music I had in mind actually..." 

"Then my job is done." You playfully lifted your hands in the air, as if you were washing your hands with the rest of life's responsibilities, before dropping them back down to their original position. 

"Is this generally the kind of music you listen to?" Dylan asked, turning his head to look at you, while you stared at the ceiling, softly snaking your head back and forth to the rhythm of the song, before it changed. He smiled at your subtle action and glanced down at your hand. He inched his closer, mere centimeters separating the two. 

You didn't notice any of what he was doing. "I guess. Anything kind of jazzy or bluesy in the undertones, I'm in love with. But I also listen to a little of everything. Like, last year I saw him, and Alabama Shakes, and other people, I can't remember." You laughed, and continued speaking. "This year, I'll see John Mayer and then The National and Solange Knowles and, like, two weeks ago? I saw The Weeknd in Brookyln."

Dylan cut you off. "Oh I love him; he's so good. I had _Can't Feel My Face_ stuck in my head like literally all during filming of 6A of _Teen Wolf_." Dylan laughed, remembering all the times him and Posey would fuck up scenes and start singing and dancing to that song together. "How was he live?"

"So fucking dope. He puts on a really good show."

_"I love the way your heart had no rules, loving what your heart becomes. Even when you smile, you're still cruel, loving what your heart becomes."_

"That's so cool. I don't see enough concerts. I like this guy though. You'll have to remind me about him tomorrow when I'm not drinking." Dylan said and you laughed, causing a massive smile to spread across his face and him to laugh with you. 

"Well it's a bummer you like him now and not last week or I would've taken you to see him in Brooklyn." You said, not even realizing what you were saying. 

"He was just here?" Dylan asked, looking over at you again. 

You nodded, with your eyes closed and a smile on your face. "Yea, on the 15th."

"Did you see him again?"

"Nope. No one to go with me."

_"Speak until the dust settles in the same specific place light refused to go. Drink it from the cast and iron plate instead of cold milk was offered unripe."_

Dylan watched you mouth the lyrics to the soft, piano based music that began to sound even more etherial. He glanced down at your fingers and took the plunge, intertwining his with yours just as the music picked up slightly. "I would've gone with you." 

_"I remember how cloth hung, flexing with the forest clung; half waist and high raised arms, kicking at the slightest form. I remember my first love. I remember my first love."_

You turned your head, a soft smile resting on your lips, as you opened your eyes to stare into Dylan's vibrant golden brown eyes. He smiled back as he felt you relax your fingers further against his. He licked his lips softly and rolled them back into his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but was too nervous to. 

"Can I kiss you?" 

You nodded slowly, and watched him lean in across the short distance on the bed. Your eyes fluttered shut when his did and you felt his wet and soft lips make contact with yours hesitantly. His breath smelled like a mix of fresh mint toothpaste and hoppy beer, but it worked. He simply pressed his lips against yours first. Then he pulled back. He turned onto his side and gently snaked his long fingers across the side of your neck, and leaned back in for a second kiss. He pressed his lips against yours again more confidently. Then he lightly pulled at your bottom lip between his. Your free hand found his bicep and held his muscles firmly; the very tips of your fingers tucking under the sleeve of his shirt. 

Your lips traded dominance with ease; his occasionally tucking your top one between his, and your lips occasionally sucking softly against his bottom one. Your heart raced as his hand moved from your neck to your back, finding the bit of skin between the bottom of your shirt and the top of your jeans that was exposed, and pressing his fingers against it. Every inch of your skin was soft and warm and Dylan was enjoying every last bit he was allowing himself to come into contact with. 

_"You'll never learn. You'll never learn how much I want to burn. I want to burn. That's the way I like it. I like it. I like all of you. Ever since-"_

Your phone stopped playing music and you glanced up. You saw Julia's face pop up on your lock screen, as she called you. You got up, and were suddenly stopped in your tracks by someone tugging on your hand. You looked back and saw Dylan sitting up, his fingers still intertwined with yours. His lips were pinker than usual and his hair was a little disheveled. 

"Don't answer it. They don't know where we are and my door is locked." Dylan begged quietly, pulling you back to him and the bed, to stand in between his legs. Your free hand met his free hand and you laced those fingers together as well. The music picked up again as the two of you goofily smiled at each other.

" _I've been able. Ever since there've been weeds growing in my mind, like a scene for the weekend. I descend into weakness. I'd stop the clock, but there's some things I can't contr-"_

The music cut out a second time, and Julia's face appeared on your phone again. "I have to answer it, something might be wrong." Dylan nodded and let go of your hands, watched you walk over to his dresser and answer your phone. 

"Julia?" You smiled back at him, and then your smile began to fade. "WHAT? Oh my god, I'll be right there. I'm calling a cab right now." 

Dylan looked alarmed, as you shoved your phone in your pocket, and looked for your purse. "What happened?" 

"Julia thinks that someone roofied Sarah, I have to figure out if I have to take her to the hospital or just get her back to my place." Your voice was frantic. 

"Fuck... fuck. Okay. Um, I'll walk down with you." He grabbed a pair of socks from his drawer and pulled them on his feet. 

You reached into your bag to pull out his shirt, and handed it to him. "Thanks." Dylan contorted his face to the side. This was not how he was hoping all of this would go. 

* * *

 

The two of you found Julia and Collette holding up Sarah by the front porch. "Jesus christ, I can't believe this happened." 

"I know, Dyl, we need to break up this party." Julia looked up at her little brother. 

"I called non-emergent services, and they said as long as she's safe and I get her water, she doesn't need to go to the emergency room and she can just go home and sleep it off at my place." You said as the taxi pulled up in front of the house and you watched Julia and Collette load Sarah into the back. You glanced up at Dylan, who pulled out his wallet, and began pulling out twenties. He handed them to you and watched you shake your head. "Dylan, I can just put it on my card or something."

He smiled and shook his head, then dipped it towards the open passenger window and handed the money to the cab driver. He looked over at his sister and her roommate and saw they were still pre-occupied with getting Sarah situated. "Text me when you get home so I know you're both safe?" You nodded, and Dylan snuck a kiss onto your cheek, snaking his fingers against yours again. You smiled and stared up into his eyes. "Goodnight."

"Night, Dyl."

* * *

**You:** _just got home and got Sarah into bed. did you break the party up?_

**Dylan O'Brien:** _Thank god, and yeah. Just laying in bed now..._

**Dylan O'Brien:** _I wish you were still here, I was_

You watched the typing bubble float on the screen for an agonizing minute before another message appeared.

**Dylan O'Brien:** _I just wanted to keep kissing you, honestly... Can I come over tomorrow and talk to you?_

**You:** _:)_

**You:** _I wanted to keep kissing you. I really didn't want to leave.._

**You:** _But actually, I am leaving tomorrow.._

Dylan's heart sunk into his stomach as he stared at those words on his screen. He pressed his fingers against the keyboard of his iPhone once more. 

**Dylan O'Brien:** _Oh.. where are you going?_

**You:** _I swear this isn't because of tonight. I just didn't have a chance to tell you because of Sarah. I have to drive out to JFK to pick up my Dad and his girlfriend and then I literally get on a flight to Kansas City to see my mom for the Fourth of July_

**Dylan O'Brien:** _When do you get back?_

**You:** _the 7th in the afternoon_

The typing bubble appeared and disappeared several times before another text came through. 

**Dylan O'Brien:** _Can I call you when you're gone?_

**You:**   _that would make me really happy :)_

**Dylan O'Brien:** _Alright, well, I'll talk to you then.. then... :)_

**You:** _i'll text you when I get up. let you know how Sarah is..._

**Dylan O'Brien:** _Sweet dreams, Y'n. I had the best time with you tonight._

You felt a massive amount of butterflies. 

**You:** _night, Dyl. i had the best time with you._

 


	6. John F. Kennedy International Airport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan picks Y/n up from the airport after her trip to visit family for the Fourth of July.

**Dylan O'Brien:** _You come home tomorrow morning..... :)_

 **You:** _omg... i do?!_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _haha shut up._

 **Dylan O'Brien** _: Um, did you have plans for tomorrow when you get home?_

 **You:** _i land at 5pm and i was just going to take the airtran from JFK to Jamaica and I was going to take the subway from there, why?_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Do you have any interest in seeing Spiderman?_

 **You:** _tomorrow?_

 ** **Dylan O'Brien** : ** _Yeah, if I came out and picked you up from the airport, would you be in the mood to see the movie with me that night?_

 **You:** _you're gonna drive all the way out from the Montauk to Brooklyn to get me from the airport to then see a two hour movie and then drive three hours back to the Hamptons and not fall asleep and crash and die...._

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Well when you put it that way... Yeah, I want to see you._

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _And I want to see Spiderman :)_

 **You:** :)

 **You:** _well, i want to see you, so if you really want to do all of that, then yea. I'll see Spiderman with you tomorrow night._

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _i'll see you at JFK at 5. text me when you land and send me your flight info?_

 **You:** _okay. goodnight, Dyl._

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Sweet dreams, Y/n. I can't wait to see you tomorrow._

* * *

Dylan sat in Julia's car, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and jiggling his leg, idling in the cellphone lot, staring at his phone, mentally trying to will it to light up. You had landed ten minutes before and said you would be quick once you got off the plane since you knew JFK so well. Dylan couldn't take the anticipation anymore. He had too many thoughts running through his head. _Do I kiss her? Do I get out and help her with her bags? Of course you get out and help her with her bags. Don't be a dick. Then maybe you kiss her. Jesus fucking christ I want to kiss her again.Oh my god, I want a cigarette so badly right now._ He got out of the car and paced next to it, until his phone vibrated in his hand. 

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _just walked past baggage claim. i'll meet you in the center pick up lane towards the end. there are always less people towards the end._

Dylan jumped back into the car and took off, going a little faster than he should through the winding airport roads. He saw you standing exactly where you said you would and he pulled the car up. Your face lit up with a smile as you saw the now familiar vehicle, and Dylan walk out and towards the back to meet you. 

"Hi. How was your flight?" Dylan asked, pulling your duffel bag off your shoulder and tossing it into the trunk, as you did the same with your backpack. 

"Good. Short. How was the drive out here?"

Dylan closed the trunk and stared down at you, smiling and laughing nervously. "Good... Long... But worth it."

You thought for a second that he might lean down and try to kiss you again but the entire moment was ruined by the sound of the guy trying to get his minivan out from behind Julia's car laying on his horn. You whipped your head around as the deafening honking continued and your inner New Yorker came out. " **WE GET IT, ASSHOLE**! Enough!"

Dylan laughed and stared at the guy in the car gesticulating unkind things with his hands at you. " _Okay_ , maybe we should just go." 

* * *

 "So chicken soup dumplings, huh? Am I going to hate this?" Dylan stared at the menu in front of him and then glanced up at you. 

You smirked, reached across the table, pulled the menu out of his hands, placed it on top of yours and handed it to the waiter with a kind smile. "You're going to love it. We're going to do one chicken, one pork, and one Singapore mei fun with no shrimp... and extra chicken?" You glanced at Dylan and smiled. The waiter nodded, and walked away. "So I may have watched something that you were in on the plane home." You admitted, returning your full attention to Dylan.

 "Oh fuck, don't tell me this. I've been living in blissful denial thinking that you hadn't seen any of my stuff. What'd you watch...?" Dylan squinted at you, half-faking physical pain over the conversation. 

"Deepwater Horizon... but if it makes you feel any better, I didn't watch it for you."

Dylan started to snicker and furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? Who'd you watch it for?"

"Gina Rodriguez, obviously." You grinned, and Dylan laughed loudly. 

"Oh! Obviously!" He mocked you, still laughing, holding his hand against his stomach as his giggles filled the small restaurant.

"I don't understand why you're laughing. She is the fucking greatest. Jane The Virgin is the best show on TV." You teased him. 

Dylan threw his hands up in the air. "Okay, Teen Wolf and I will just go fuck ourselves." He joked, leaning his elbows against the table, and smiling at you. 

"But really, does she just like, smell incredible and also just exude Latina goddess vibes all the time or just some of the time?" You smirked, leaning forward towards him. 

Dylan shook his head and laughed. "Oh shut up."

You let him off the hook finally. "Okay, okay. In actuality, I mean, I do love Gina Rodriguez, but you were pretty spectacular in it, and the movie was really well done. I sort of cried a little at the end when you were with your family again at the hotel, and then Mark Wahlberg's character just collapses on the floor of his room with his family and they all cry. The whole thing was just a tragedy, but you all did it justice, I think.." You explained your feelings on the movie. 

Dylan stared down at the food on the table in front of the two of you, and watched you smile at the waiter, silently thanking him. He was feeling bashful. It didn't matter how many movies or shows he'd make, he assumed that he would never really get comfortable receiving praise, especially from people who he knew well. "Well, thanks. That's a good review. You know, the coolest thing about that shoot was that I got to learn about this whole industry that I just knew nothing about previously. Those guys have incredibly difficult and dangerous and physically exhausting jobs, and they taught us a lot of the stuff that they do, and it was really humbling to spend time with those guys; the real guys, I mean." You wanted to respond to Dylan but you had stuffed a soup dumpling in your mouth and you couldn't chew fast enough. Dylan took a bite of one of the chicken ones, and then took the opportunity to change the subject. "Okay, you were right, these are amazing. Holy shit." He stuffed the rest in his mouth. 

You covered your mouth as you laughed, trying to make sure no food shot out across the table at him. "I told you I wouldn't steer you wrong." 

"So I have a confession to make too." Dylan said, after swallowing his food and taking a sip of his root beer. 

"Oh?" You smirked at him. He was so handsome. He nodded, and pushed up the sleeves of his deep red plaid shirt, then moved his hands to readjust his baseball cap on his head. He always wore one in public because he didn't want to be recognized, but you always thought it was funny that he did it in Queens since literally no one ever really bothers celebrities when they see them out in Manhattan, let alone in Flushing. 

"I may have bought HBO and watched two episodes of the second season of Game of Thrones while you were in Kansas." Dylan sheepishly smiled, and then broke out into full on laughter as your face devolved from shock into fake anger. 

"How could you?" You brought your hand up to your chest, and pretended to be disgusted with him. 

"Listen, it rained one of the days you were gone and I was so bored and I also really wanted to know what happened to Arya once Ned died, but I literally couldn't watch more than two because I felt so guilty watching without you!" He admitted. 

You laughed. "It's okay, it's okay. I'll let it slide this one time." You smiled up from behind your chopsticks. 

"Um.." Dylan rubbed the scruff on his chin, and struggled with getting his sentence out. "Were you planning on coming back out East this weekend?" He asked, quickly placing another soup dumpling in his mouth out of nervousness. 

You grinned and nodded. "I was thinking about it but the weather is supposed to be kind of shitty, so that stinks."

"Well, if you came, and it rained, maybe we could finish the second season together...?" He proposed, and you nodded with a smirk.

"Just admit it, O'Brien. I got you hooked, and now I'm going to be stuck watching Game of Thrones with you for the rest of the summer." You pointed your chopsticks at him in a playful manner, as you teased him; going out on a limb by implying that he might want to spend the rest of the summer hanging out with you.

"Oh, as if you have anything better to do than watch Game of Thrones with me this summer." Dylan poked fun right back, but didn't dispute your comment about spending the summer with him. He reached down and shoved another chicken-stuffed soup dumpling in his mouth, his cheeks puffing out as he chewed.

You stabbed around the pork dumpling on your plate and thought about how to approach a topic that you had been wanting to talk to him about. "What are your plans for this summer?" You asked somewhat trepidatiously.

"What do you mean?" Dylan mumbled in between bites.

"I don't mean to pry, I know we've only hung out a few times, but why are you here for so long? Don't you have jobs or, like, auditions or movies you want to make or something?"

"You mean, why am I not in LA with all of my friends, instead of hiding out at my sister's beachhouse with her college friends?" Dylan rubbed his fingers through his scruff, scratching for an itch that did not exist. You had made him uncomfortable; that much you had figured out. You had picked up on his social cues pretty quickly, and the face touching meant nervous or uneasy. "Honestly?" Dylan looked up at you, and contorted his lips to the side. "Did Julia tell you anything about why I'm here?" 

You nodded slowly. "At Boardy Barn, the first day I met you, she told me you had just gone through a break up." You thought you knew the details: him and Britt Robertson had dated for six years, on and off, and you assumed it just wasn't working out anymore.

Dylan laughed uncomfortably, and pushed his fingers from his beard, up into his hair, slowly dropping his hand back to massage the back of his neck. He stared down at his plate, as his elbow was still connected to the edge of the table. He glanced up at you from under his long, thick brown eyelashes. "Of course she told you. She is the worst with secrets." 

"She didn't tell me anymore than that, and you don't have to either.. if you don't want." You leaned back against your chair, and folded your hands in your lap, resting them on the top of your napkin. You felt both bad for making him talk about this, and also hopeful that he would, as you were incredibly curious about what his status was. You were extra curious tonight since you still weren't positive whether or not this particular dinner and a movie was a date or not. 

"No, no, it's okay. Honestly, Jules told me a little about your boyfriend from BC, so I think you'll probably get what I went throu-"

"She cheated on you?" You interrupted Dylan, suddenly leaning forward, your heart racing over the thought.

Dylan nodded slowly. "Do you know who KJ Apa is?" You shook your head. "Have you heard of that new show, _Riverdale_?"

"Oh yea, it's like the new craze. Is he in it?" You asked. 

Dylan nodded. "He plays Archie."

The image of who he was talking about suddenly became very clear in your mind. You could see his fire-cone orange, poorly dyed hair on the promo shots you had seen in the subway, in your head. "I know who you're talking about."

Dylan sighed and went back to rubbing the stubble on his face, staring down at your hands, one rested against your chin, and the other in the crease of your arm. He liked your hands ever since he got to hold them and feel them against his skin. Just the sight of them was something nice to distract him from the distressing topic. "Well Britt, my ex, and KJ did a movie called  _A Dog's Purpose_ together in August of 2015, and they played a couple and I guess they hooked up on set a few times, but nothing came of it. I was filming season five of Teen Wolf at the time, and yea.. I don't know. So then they spent all of this time together again promoting the film before it came out, and they started a relationship. A friend of mine accidentally found out, and uh, Britt was sort of forced to tell me or have me find out from my friend, so she told me, and we broke up."

"When did you find out?" You asked, trying to ignore the sickly feeling in your stomach, as Dylan's story brought back painful memories for you as well. 

"February." He replied. 

You wondered if four months was enough time for him to start to get over someone that he dated for years. You doubted it, and the pit in your stomach grew larger and more uneasy. "I'm sorry. I do get what you went through, and it's horrible. It's one thing to be broken up with and hurt, it's a whole other thing to be betrayed." You shook your head and stared at the small candle flickering in the middle of the table. "Wait, isn't _Riverdale_ based on _Archie's Comics_ , meaning, that they will probably be at ComicCon?" 

Dylan nodded slowly, a serious look resting on his normally jovial face. "Yep. I am not going to be sticking around there much that day. I just don't need that kind of bullshit in my life, you know?"

"Fuck. I don't blame you. I am so sorry, that is all just fucking awful."

Dylan pursed his lips together, and readjusted his hat back over his head. He glanced up and noticed that you were staring down at the table in between the two of you. He could tell that he had bummed you out. "It's okay. The first month sucked, but then I flew out to South Africa in March to finish filming for the last Maze Runner movie, and being around my friends and being somewhere new. It was all really helpful, so when filming was wrapping up at the end of May, I decided I didn't want to go back to Los Angeles, and Jules said I could stay with her in Montauk. That was starting to get a little boring and I was thinking about heading back to L.A., even if I did run the risk of running into one of them, but then I decided to stay." Dylan said, glancing at you from under his eyelashes, the slightest hint of a smile resting on his pink lips.

"Why's that?" You asked, oblivious that he was flirting with you. 

Dylan laughed softly, that smile that shot you right through the heart every time you saw it, came back to his face finally. "Well, my sister introduced me to her friend from college, and that girl has turned out to be really smart and funny and sweet and she keeps sending me new music to listen to and new shows to watch and keeps trying to drag my ass out into the ocean to go surfing with her, and basically, in two weeks time, she has made this a fantastic summer and I've been the happiest I've been in a really long time." Dylan leaned forward on the table and lightly pressed his fingers against the back of your arm, and your heart began to race.

You rolled your lips back into your mouth, wetting them against your tongue, as you tried not to grin too hard. Your gaze went from Dylan's hand, softly caressing your skin, up to his caramel colored eyes. "Well, she sounds pretty fucking great to me, and definitely someone you should go surfing with."

Dylan laughed, and shook his head. "I have a feeling that she'll wear me down and get me back on a surfboard before the end of the summer."

"A girl can dream, right?" You smirked. 

* * *

"I love the recliners. This has made my movie going experience so much more expensive and I don't even care because I love it so much. It's the ultimate in laziness." You slowly moved your hands away from each other, in front of you, as you uttered the word 'laziness'. You snickered, grinned and turned to look at Dylan as you finished speaking. 

Dylan laughed and shook his head at you. "Next they're going to put full on beds in theaters and then you can pay fourteen dollars just to fall asleep halfway through the movie outside of your own home." 

You laughed at Dylan's joke and adjusted in your seat to face him more. "That would be amazing, don't even joke... But in actuality though, you know what kind of sucks about these kinds of seats?" Dylan raised his eyes eyebrows and watched you look around at the seats. "You know when we were teenagers and like you brought the person you liked to the movies and, in the fancy ones at least, the armrest went up and the guy could do like the 'yawn and stretch'? Like, teenagers can't do that crap with these sorts of seats because the armrests don't go up."

"What are you talking about?" Dylan chuckled and shook his head at you. 

" **OH COME ON**! You said a little loudly over the commercials playing on the screen before the trailers started. "You know what I'm talking about... The ' _yawn and stretch_ '... the thing where the guy pretends to yawn and stretch and he actually puts hi-"

"Oh..." A mischievous smile broke out across Dylan's scruffy face, as he suddenly yanked at the armrest divider in between their seats, pulling it up and moving it out of the way. "...you mean _this_ yawn..." Dylan faked a huge and obnoxiously adorable yawn, his fist pressed up against his precious turned up nose. "and stretch move?" He finished his sentence as he stretched out his arms above his head and brought his right arm down on the back of your shoulders. 

You blushed furiously, but cozied up closer to him before looking up at him and cracking one final joke. "Ew. Gross.. You have cooties." You said in your best silly adolescent-mocking tone, a smirk resting on your mouth. 

Dylan laughed and adjusted his baseball cap with his left hand. You could tell he was nervous. You sat in an awkward silence for a few short moments before Dylan finally spoke up again. "I'm really glad I came all the way out here for this... to hang out with you... and give you my cooties." 

You threw your head back against his arm and laughed loudly. He made you feel better about your lame joke, and about your intimate pose. You rotated onto your side more and bent your knees so that they were touching his right leg and Dylan reached his left hand down, and pulled your left hand off of your lap. You watched his eyes watching his hand intertwine its fingers with yours and finally rest on his stomach. His thumb gently rubbed the back of your thumb and you rolled your lips into your mouth in an effort to not attack him with a kiss. 

You finally built up the courage to speak again, feeling like hours had passed by but you had barely gotten through the Pepsi commercial that was playing on the screen, so really it had been a total of fourteen seconds or so. Your smile softened and you slowly met his gaze. "I'm really glad you came out to hang out with me too.. and that the ' _yawn and stretch_ ' still works out pretty well.."

Dylan squeezed your hand a little and you nuzzled into his side more comfortably. He pressed his tongue between his lips gently and gulped softly. "Is it cheesy if I ask if I can I kiss you again?" 

Your heart practically leapt out of your chest and your soft smile widened into a full on, blinding beam of pearly white teeth. That was all you wanted to hear from him. Those kisses from the night of Julia's party were all you could think ever since they happened. You slowly nodded and watched as Dylan turned his head to the side, vigilant to not bump you in the head with the bill of his hat, and connected his lips with yours. It was a soft and sweet kiss at first. One that ended with the feeling of Dylan's smile pressed against your mouth. You reached your right hand back towards your shoulder and connected it with his right hand. You quietly breathed each other in for a few seconds.

Dylan straightened himself out and pressed his lips against yours again. Your bottom lip was tenderly pulled between his lips and you broke your left hand away from his and pulled it up to grip around the back of his neck as the kisses grew in passion and intensity. Dylan's newly free left hand snaked across his body and hooked behind the bend of your leg, pulling you slightly on top of him. 

 _"Welcome to Regal Entertainment.... Refreshments are available in the lobby..."_ A booming voice startled the both of you out of your embrace, as you realized that the lights had dimmed, the advertisement for the company that owned the theater began to play, and the trailers were about to start. 

Dylan watched as you pressed your slightly swollen lips together, the corners curved up into a smirk, and you dropped your hands back to your lap. He smiled back at you and leaned forward to leave a quick kiss on your cheek. You giggled just loud enough for him to hear and he swore he felt butterflies fill his chest. He kneaded his large thumb into the side of your knee and you snaked your hands over his left arm, gently brushing the thick brown hair on his arms with your fingers. You relaxed your head against his shoulder and chest and he relaxed his head on top of yours. This was bliss.

"Are you a talker during movies?" Dylan whispered down to you. 

You leaned off of his body, looked up at him and contorted your face in a wishy-washy manner. "Sort of? Sometimes? It depends. Small commenter, maybe." 

Dylan grinned. "Good. Me too. Now get back over here. I wanna see what movie I'm going to take you to see next." With that comment, and the trailer for Dunkirk beginning to play, you leaned up and pecked him on the lips.

"This one." 

"Hell yes. I love Harry Styles." Dylan joked and you laughed and shook your head against his shoulder. 

* * *

Dylan's smile spread from ear to ear and caused his eyes to slightly shut as his high and prominent cheekbones involuntarily shut his bottom lids up towards his top lids. He couldn't help but smile that big. You were holding his hand, dragging him through the crowds exiting the theater, and excitedly chattering about Spiderman. It was the cutest thing he had ever laid his eyes on. 

" **SUIT LADY**! How fucking funny was the suit lady bit? When she was like ' _activating instant kill mode_ ' and Peter was like ' _hold up, suit lady say whaaaaat?_ ' and oh my god the scene where he's like swinging through the rooftops and he sees the guys at the halal cart and the guy on the ground is like ' _do a flip Spiderman_!' and he's like, ' _dope, totally_.' and does it. Oh god. I loved like every second of that movie, and oh my god Michael Keaton was amazing! How insane is it that you got to work with him. Like, holy shit." She turned back to look at him as they walked back to the subway, still hand-in-hand, and realized that she had been incessantly chattering for at least five minutes without hearing him say a word. She had annoyed him into a walking coma. "Sorry... I kind of..."

"You liked it?" Dylan asked with a smirk, as you both descended the steps into the subway.

You furrowed your brows into a fake-pained smile and laughed. "YES! Oh god. I'm the worst. I really did love it. I am such a nerd. You weren't supposed to find that out yet, and I have just been rambling, and okay. I'm stopping. Shutting up now. What did _YOU_ think?" You leaned against one of the steel support beams on the platform as you waited for the train to get to the station, and you watched as Dylan smiled and leaned forward towards you. 

Suddenly, his hands were dipping underneath your y/h/c hair, his thumbs pressing against your jawline, and his lips were crashing into yours again. You brought your hands up to wrap around his muscular wrists and you leaned into the kiss. He finally broke away, but left his hands where they had been. He sighed. 

"I think I was worried that you were going to think _I_ was a huge comic book and Spiderman geek, but your 'small comments' were like, ' _I wonder if Donald Glover is supposed to be Miles Morales' uncle_ ' and ' _I love how Peter has his own Jarvis_ ' and it suddenly became one of the best times I've ever had watching a Marvel movie with someone else. You really are a huge nerd." Dylan grinned down at you and you blushed. 

You leaned up, standing on your tip-toes, and pulling at his wrists, and pecked him on the lips. You heard the train come screeching to a halt and the two of you sat down on the periwinkle blue seats, your hands still connected. "Okay, so you liked my comments, but did you actually like the movie?" You asked him again. 

Dylan nodded enthusiastically. "I fucking loved it. I was so glad that they didn't do another origin story again and that the cast was so young and diverse and Mike was so badass as Vulture." Dylan shifted in place, catching your attention. "You know, my biggest dream, besides become a Met, was to play Peter Parker. Like, I was Peter growing up, you know? I was this kid from New York City, who lived in an apartment and didn't come from a lot of money and was socially awkward and loved the Mets and.. also just wanted to be Spiderman.. He was my hero growing up." Dylan laughed to himself and shook his head. "And part of me was really upset that I missed out on this role, but also, like, Tom was perfect. He was such a great Peter, and honestly, he's the right age and I can't do all of those backflips and stuff - I'd break my neck or something. So, I was worried that I would be a little jealous, _honestly_.." Dylan made eye contact with you, and his voice got a little high when he said ' _honestly_ ', but it returned to his normal pitch immediately after. "... but I actually just fucking loved it from start to finish. I can't wait to tell Michael what I thought when I see him after comic con." 

* * *

You and Dylan emerged from underground and he walked you back to your apartment building. You lived on the fourth floor in a two bedroom with your older sister and her fiancé, in a nicer part of Kew Gardens, Queens. Dylan leaned against the passenger side door of Julia's car, his hands wrapped around your waist, smiling down at you. The warm early July breeze whipped a few stray strands of your hair in front of your face, and you brought your hand up to push them aside. You then reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. It was midnight. 

"Dylan, wait, I.. I cannot let you go back to Montauk tonight. You probably won't get home until at least four, and I don't want you to f... I would feel awful if you came all the way out here to pick me up from the airport, just for you to drive home and like, die in a firey car crash because you fell asleep on the Long Island Expressway at three in the morning." 

"I'll be fine. I'm not even that tired." Dylan said, regardless of the fact that he had been yawning on the subway.

You shook your head, smiled and pulled on his arms. "Nope. I cannot have your fans coming after me when you die because I let you drive home this late. You're staying here tonight."

Dylan stifled a yawn. He was tired. "You don't have to, Y/n."

"Come on." You jiggled around in your pocket for your keys, one hand on the cold and jagged metal, the other placed in his behind you. You weren't hearing protests from him, but you were still a little nervous because of his silence. You paused and looked behind you. "Only if you want to, of course."

"I am kind of tired..." Dylan smiled softly, and you had to actively think about keeping your knees from buckling at the sight. 

* * *

 

"Is that really what you sleep in though?" You asked as you walked back into your bedroom in a tank top and polkadot pajama shorts. Dylan was sitting with his back against your wooden frame headboard, in his white t-shirt and jeans, he had only taken off his plaid shirt, hat and shoes. "You would sleep in jeans? Really?" You smirked, as you milled about your room, picking the clothes off the floor, wishing you had straightened up earlier in the week like you had planned to but never got around to.

Dylan glanced down at his denim pants and raised his eyebrows. "Okay, no, of course not, but..."

"Don't worry about. Just, get comfortable." You turned around to put clothes in your drawers, and out of the corner of your eye, in the reflection of your mirror, you saw Dylan get up, pull his socks and jeans off and get under the sheets on your queen sized bed.

You turned around after a few more seconds, and smiled at him, then turned off the light. "You have HBO here?" He asked, and you grinned and nodded. "Wanna watch an episode?" 

You laughed, and handed him the remote from your bedside table, then got under the covers next to him. "Sure. Just hit that colorful button in the middle.. yea.. there." You directed him on how to get HBO to work on your Samsung SmartTV. 

The theme music to Thrones began playing softly in the background and you yawned, causing your nose to crinkle and Dylan to smile at the cute new habit he noticed. "Um, you could come over here if you wanted.." He offered, laying his arm against the headboard, on top of the pillow in between the two of you. 

You smiled up at him, scooted your body across the mattress and waited for him to lay down a little further on the bed and extend his arm for your to snuggle against. You rested your head against the soft fabric on his chest and your left hand gently kneaded his right shoulder. He rubbed his right hand up and down the peach fuzz on your left forearm, and wrapped his left hand around your back and side. This was not how he was expecting his night to end, but at that point in time, Dylan didn't want any of the rest of his summer to end any other way anymore. He was developing feelings and trust and a natural comfortability with you that he wasn't sure he'd feel again after Britt. He had been especially certain that he wouldn't feel that again so soon, but there it was, butterflies, happiness, and a permanent smile because he really liked you.

Dylan leaned over and whispered in your ear. "Thank you for letting me stay tonight. I really didn't want this night to end, and I'm glad it hasn't yet." He was met with silence. Dylan pursed his lips, and leaned his head down towards the right side of his chest to peek at you. You were fast asleep, breathing softly against his chest. Dylan snickered quietly to himself. "So fucking cute." 

He decided to finish the episode without you, with only twenty minutes left, and then go to sleep himself. He gently pulled you against him a little tighter, taking advantage of the fact that he didn't have to feel self-conscious about whether or not you still wanted to snuggle with him, because you were asleep. He brought his right hand up, and began very softly running his long fingers through her hair. She barely stirred; she was a very sound sleeper. Dylan yawned and felt his eyes becoming heavy. He did his best to reach down by his leg to get the remote to turn the TV off, without waking her, and suddenly the room went dark. He couldn't see her anymore but he did like that he could still feel her warm breath against his shirt and he could still smell the soft scent of her vanilla-scented shampoo and conditioner. He fell asleep with a content smile on his face and his crush in his arms. 

* * *

 

Dylan rubbed at his eyes, and then looked around the room. It was gray and cloudy, but still bright enough out for him to see that you were no where to be found. He glanced around and noticed your phone was gone from your night stand too. "The fuck..?" He contorted his mouth, as he swung his legs around the side of the mattress. "This is a reversal. They don't usually sneak out of their own house. Aren't I supposed to be the one who sneaks out? Damnit."

"Were you trying to sneak out?" 

Dylan turned around to face the bedroom door and saw a very drenched you, standing in the doorway in jeans and a soaking wet sweatshirt, with coffee and a white paper bag in your hands. He smiled, and then stood up next to the bed. "No, but I kind of thought you had for a second."

"I did sneak out, _technically_ , but just to get us breakfast and not wake you up." You smiled and lifted the items in your hands, before approaching the bed and placed them at the foot. "I didn't know what you liked so I got a plain bagel with cream cheese, a plain bagel with cream cheese toasted, a bacon egg and cheese on a plain bagel and a sausage, egg and cheese, but that's mine." 

Dylan grabbed the bagel with the bacon, eggs and cheese out of the bag, and a coffee from the cardboard carrier and smiled at you. "Thank you..." He placed a peck on your cheek, and his nose brushed your wet hair. "Okay, you need to change into something dry and get back under the covers with me so I can warm you back up."

You grinned and pressed your hand against his taut stomach. "Well, I'm not going to argue with that offer. I'll be right back." You pressed a soft and short kiss against his lips, turned to grab some clean clothes and ran to the bathroom to change. When you walked back in, Dylan was lying under your sheets again, with the food and drinks resting on his bedside table. "Do you want to watch an episode or two of Thrones and then head out east?" You proposed.

"Can we watch more at my house until I have to pick Jules up from the train station?" Dylan asked, remembering it was Friday and Julia was coming out from the city that night. You agreed happily and the two of you dug into your breakfasts. 

"God, I fucking, like I know everything that happens, and I still HATE Joffrey. He's such a little psycho." You mumbled, while watching the fourth episode of the second season of Game of Thrones, and snuggling back up to Dylan's chest; much more awake than the night before. 

Dylan chuckled and continued watching his thumb rubbing the back of your hand, instead of what Joffrey was doing to Sansa on the screen in front of him. "Would it be weird, or like too soon, if I told you that I really like you?" Dylan blurted out, no longer able to keep his feelings inside. 

You shot your head up from the TV screen, to look at him, completely shocked by his question. Your smile went from stunned to huge and happy. You shook your head, and broke your hand from his to massage your fingers into his scruffy beard. "Not too soon because I really like you too." You admitted.

"Okay, well that is good because then I can do more of this and not worry about whether you're just being nice to me or not." Dylan reached his free hand up to your chin and pressed his supple lips against yours. 

You spent the rest of the episode kissing innocently, your limbs rapped up together, until the end theme played. 


	7. East Hampton Main Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan and Y/n spend the day together before he flies off to the West Coast for ComicCon and American Assassin press.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated: January 9th, 2018

Dylan swam towards where you were treading water and jumping up as the waves tried to move over you and towards the beach. "Not tall enough to stand?" He smirked, licking his lips and tasting salty seawater. 

"Yea, maybe I should just head back in." You teased with a grin, as you turned your body towards the shore and prepared to swim away from him. 

"Or you could just come here." Dylan grabbed your wrist and pulled you through the water towards him.

You giggled, as you glided through the water and ended up face-to-face with the incredibly sexy man in front of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he wrapped his arms around yours, and before you knew what was happening, his lips were pressed against your lips. You and Dylan swayed with the movement of the swell as he tugged on your lower lip with his teeth and moved his hand from the small of your back up to rest underneath the small knot at the back of your bikini top. There was very little room between you as your arms were wrapped around his neck and your hands were gently tugging at his dark chocolate strands. You felt like your heart was about to beat right out of your chest as the intensity of your kisses increased and Dylan's other hand gripped a little tighter against your side. You pulled away, taking a deep breath in and then rolling your lips back into your mouth, desperately needing a breath and to calm down. You were getting a little carried away over Dylan's kisses. You suddenly began snickering, and Dylan couldn't help but laugh with you. 

"What? What are you laughing at?" Dylan asked, chuckling. 

You grinned from ear to ear and leaned your head and body back into the water to cool down. Dylan couldn't help but stare at your chest and exposed neck, sitting right in front of his face, begging to be kissed. He was grateful when you straightened out in front of him and spoke. "I don't understand how it is that you are _that_ good of a kisser and then you also look like _this_?" You pulled your hand from around the back of his neck and waved it in front of you, gesturing to his face and upper body. "Like, how is that fair to me? What am I supposed to do about that?" You joked.

Dylan chuckled and then answered your question. "Keep kissing me." Dylan replied smugly, before leaning in for another kiss, a bit more intense this time. He craved more. He gently swept at your lips with his tongue, hoping you would allow him entrance. You did and Dylan's tongue found yours. The two of you got lost in the passionate and hot kiss, forgetting where you were, until a wave came crashing down on the two of you. "Shit." Dylan searched the water around him as he lost you under the wave, until he heard you gasp for air, and saw you push the water out of your eyes and slide your hair back off of your face as you breached the surface. "Are you okay?" Dylan said, frantically, as he swam over to you. 

You began laughing, as you pressed your fingers against your nose and, as lady-like as possible, spit into the water. Dylan looked confused but smirked nonetheless at your laughter. "Maybe less kissing in the ocean next time." You said, in between fits of coughing and laughter. 

* * *

You had finally gotten Dylan to wake up early, on a somewhat overcast morning, and go surfing with you, but once the sky had begun to sprinkle a misty rain over the East End of Long Island, you both decided to pack it in for the day.You spent the rest of the afternoon, sitting on the massive U-shaped couch in the TV room on the first floor of Dylan and Julia's Montauk beach house, and for the past week and a half, that meant two things for you and Dylan: Game of Thrones and making out like ravenous teenagers. 

As the hours passed, Dylan sat on the couch, playing with your hair, half watching the episodes and thinking of what he could do to make you smile. He had decided that he wanted to woo you, and was going to make you dinner. You took the opportunity of him being occupied to catch up on some work. You sat at the counter in the kitchen, on one of the tall stools, with your laptop open in front of you, scanning an amicus brief that you had been working on proofreading for one of the partners at the law firm that you moonlighted as a paralegal for when you were not traveling. Dylan stood on the other side of the counter, cutting vegetables and seasoning chicken, and mostly smirking while watching you read and type on your computer. 

"Are you sure I can't help with dinner?" You asked, as you caught him staring at you while he aimlessly stirred at the sautéing onions and bell peppers on the stove top. 

He smiled, and shook his head. "Keep working, I got this. I swear my mom taught me how to cook a little." You hopped off the stool, and Dylan's head whipped around when he heard the soft pads of your feet connect with the wood floors below. "I said you didn't have to help, you nut." He reminded you, leaving his wooden spoon on the counter, and bringing his hands up to your cheeks. 

You leaned up and Dylan smiled genuinely, waiting for you to kiss him. "I know." You finally said, then reached into the sauté pan on the burner and grabbed a caramelized onion and popped it into your mouth. "I just wanted an onion." You grinned, Dylan dropped his hands and shook his head and you walked back over to your laptop. Dylan laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, while shaking his head and returning to his cooking. His crush on you developed more and more every minute he spent with you and he was thoroughly enjoying this picture of domestic bliss. He peeked behind him one last time, connecting his eyes with yours, and you gave him a quick smile that sent butterflies swarming straight into his chest.

* * *

 

"I'm glad that it cleared up." Dylan said, as he popped the cap on your beer off with the bottle opener on his keychain. 

"Me too... Thanks." You took the cold Stella Artois from his hand and brought it up to your lips as he opened his beer, then shoved his keys back into his pants pocket. "Oh, you know where I want to go, and bring you, obviously, if you're into doing stuff like this?" You asked, as you watched Dylan secure his beer into the sand next to him, then begin to build a mountain of cold and damp sand behind his back. 

"Stuff like this? You mean, stargazing with the most beautiful girl in New York while drinking beer? Yea, I obviously am into doing stuff like this. I'm not crazy." Dylan said sarcastically, with a small smirk, as he finished building a mound to lean against, cleaned the sand off of his hands and then rested against the incline. 

You felt Dylan's hand grip against your shoulder, as he gently pulled you back against his chest, wrapped his arm across your collarbones and kissed the side of your head as you laid between his outstretched legs. "Okay, well if you're gonna be sassy, I'm not bringing your ass anywhere." You teased back, bringing the bottle up to your upturned lips.

Dylan snickered and peppered your cheek with swift kisses. "Please keep bringing me on your adventures." He whispered in your ear, and you nuzzled your head further against his chest at the sound of his request. "Where did you want to go and bring me?" 

"There's this observatory in, I think, Southhold, which is on the North Fork somewhere, I don't know my way around up there as well, but every Saturday from like April to October, at like midnight, they hold like stargazing parties with wine and little finger foods and if it's clear enough, they have people there who tell you what constellations are what and tell you facts and histories about them. I've been wanting to do it for years but never had anyone to do it with." You explained, leaning your head back to look up at Dylan behind you. 

He smiled softly, his amber eyes gazed at you with fondness. "I would love to do that with you." He leaned down and kissed you on the temple, watching as you closed your eyes and sighed at his touch. You relaxed into each other, watching the clear night sky twinkling above you, quietly debating with each other on what was an airplane versus what was a satellite.

After you the two of you lost the satellite amongst the other twinkling lights above, the conversation died down and you closed your eyes and simply listened to the sound of Dylan quietly breathing in your ear, and the sound of the waves crashing off of Montauk Point in the distance. You adjusted your feet around, digging them into the beach below you and feeling the cooler and wetter sand scratch between your toes as you buried them deep. You sighed heavily with contentment and felt Dylan crane his neck around to try to glimpse at your face. 

"What are you thinking about?" He whispered, his warm breath brushing against your ear again. 

You smiled quickly and snickered. "I'm thinking about being a fish." 

Dylan half scoffed and half laughed and fully lifted his hand off of your thigh to cover his mouth while he laughed. "What?!" 

You began laughing with him. "Oh my god, that sounded so dumb outside of the context of my brain." You laughed and covered your eyes with your sand hands, tiny grains of sediment falling down your cheeks and back onto the beach. "I am so scattered. Oh god... okay.." You sat up and turned your body fully and sat cross-legged in front of him, wiping the sand off your hands onto the knees of your jeans. "It's not anything dramatic, it's just like this thing I think about. Like, I've lived on an island my whole life, except for when I lived in Boston and that's a city attached to a harbor, so, I'm an ocean and water kind of girl, right?"

Dylan sat up with you and aimlessly traced lines into the sand next to him with his fingers as he softly smiled and listened to you, unable to hide the admiration from his face. He loved just listening to you talk. Every time you opened your mouth in front of him, you either always had something interesting to say or you made him laugh, and he was absolutely enthralled with you because of that fact. He watched as you closed your eyes and leaned your head back, your hair softly blowing in the wind behind you as you let it dangle over the sand. 

You continued speaking. "I have this dream, I guess, where I'm sitting on a beach by myself and an arm comes out of a wave and grabs me and pulls me in and I become a fish." 

Dylan snickered quietly, and watched as his hands thoughtlessly buried your feet in sand. "Is that a good dream?" He asked softly, glancing back and forth between your sand covered feet and your closed but happy eyes and mouth. 

You collapsed backwards into the sand, your arms stretching up above your head, reaching out towards the ocean behind you, beckoning the hand to come out and grab you. Dylan climbed over you and settled onto his side next to you, not willing to miss any of what you had to say. He watched with a smitten smirk as you made sand angels in the grains below your arms. 

You sighed contemplatively. "It is a good dream. It's comforting because it's not like I drown, I just swim and float and exist in the waves and it's quiet and peaceful and weightless and warm..." You trailed off, getting quieter with each new ' _and_ '. "So I guess, I just want to live in the sea, be one with it or.. whatever." You quietly snickered then rolled your lips back into your mouth. You opened your eyes, turning your head to see Dylan quietly watching you, his head resting against his bicep, with his arm outstretched above him. "Was that just the weirdest thing you've ever heard?"

Dylan shook his head slowly. "I think I could listen to you talk all day and never get bored of the things that come out of your mouth." Dylan whispered, barely audible over the wind and the crashing surf. He simply moved his left arm from against his stomach to stroke the side of your cheek, brushing damp grains of sand away from your freckled nose. 

You smiled, nuzzling softly into his touch, and connected your eyes with his. "I like you so much.... I never would've told you any of that if I didn't." You scrunched your nose towards the end of your sentence, nervous about the truths coming out of your mouth so willingly.

Dylan couldn't shake the smile off of his face; it had been there all night and he really didn't see it going away any time soon. He was so content and comfortable. He brushed a flyaway hair away from your face and leaned in to give you a soft and momentary kiss. "I like you so much..." He found himself mirroring your expression and scrunching his nose as well. "So much... I'm constantly finding new things to like too." He continued stroking his fingers through your hair until you suddenly shivered. "You cold?" Dylan asked, glancing over at you. 

"I'm fine." You lied, not wanting him to suggest leaving yet, regardless of how cold you actually were.

Dylan sat up and pulled you up with him. He watched as you shook your hair out with your hands, trying to free the sand from your long tresses. He leaned forward and rubbed his large, sinewy hands up and down your arms, trying to create some friction and heat.

"You have goosebumps! Why didn't you say anything. Come here." Dylan pushed you up onto your feet and he followed. He wiped his hands against the thighs of his khaki pants, and then pulled at the bottom of his blue and gray pullover hoodie, ripping it off over his head, and handing it to you. “Don’t argue, just put it on.” Dylan chuckled before you could protest. 

You blushed mildly, then smiled softly, as you pulled the sleeves from being inside out and then pulled it on over your head. The sweatshirt intoxicated you with the overwhelming scent of him. “Thank you.” You smiled as Dylan nodded and then plopped back into the sand below. You dropped down to the ground with him, and positioned yourself back into your earlier position, against his chest. “Are you going to be cold now though?”

Dylan shook his head and left a quick kiss against your cheek. You were smitten with how affectionate he had been since your first sleepover. He had a very hard time keeping his hands and lips off of you because of how much he liked you; kissing you became a regularly all-consuming thought for him. "I got you, a tiny human furnace, leaning against me and it's not too cold, I'll be fine out here for a while longer."

"Let me know when you want to go in." You told him, tilting your head back and placing a kiss on his lips. 

"I will." 

“I will.”

“This is really soft, where’d you get it?” You mentioned, stroking your fingers against the fabric of his sweatshirt.

"What?" You furrowed your brow and laughed. 

"Literally half my wardrobe is just clothes that I stole from Teen Wolf. That's something I wore in one of the middle seasons. I don't remember when exactly." He explained. 

"Are you excited to do Comic Con in a couple of days? Get back in touch with your inner Stiles?" You joked, taking a sip of your flattening beer. 

Dylan sighed and bobbed his head back and forth. "I am excited but I wish you were coming. I'm gonna miss you while I'm gone." He watched as you pulled the sleeves around your tiny fists and he cupped them in his. He liked you in his clothing. 

You turned your head and left a quick kiss on his chest, rubbing your fists gently up and down on his upper thighs. "I'm going to miss you but you'll have fun." You yawned loudly, unable to help it; the alcohol was starting to go to your head. "Wanna head back?"

"Yea, let's go." Dylan waited for you to scoot forward, then got up and wrapped his hand around yours and walked back to the house with you.

* * *

 

Deeming half past midnight as still 'early', you and Dylan cracked open fresh beers and went upstairs to his bedroom to start season five of Thrones. The moment that he saw you laying on his bed, tilting the mouth of the bottle against your lips and letting the liquid pour down your throat, however, Dylan could think of nothing else but your lips. He knocked back a third of his beer and then placed the bottle down, hearing the clink of the bottle connecting with the glass on the top of one of his bedside tables, not watching what he was doing, but instead keeping a silent but intense eye contact with you. You furrowed your brow, small wrinkles creasing your forehead as you watched him climb onto the bed towards you. He pulled the bottle out of your hand and placed it on the other bedside table. Suddenly, your heart rate increased and your breathing became heavy as he hovered over you. 

Without any words spoken, Dylan slowly leaned down and brushed his lips against yours, his hand gently caressing your cheek. He pulled his head up slightly and opened his eyes, examining the expression on your face. He licked his lips, closed his eyes once more, and leaned down again, brushing his lips against yours softly. You felt your the breath exhaling from your nose being reflected back onto you as his face remained hovering inches from yours. 

The way he was staring at you was making your brain become useless in thinking of anything but a singular idea. You wanted him. He was sweet and smart and funny and easy to talk to and beautiful to look at and you had been pushing your desire for him deep down inside of you for weeks. You felt his hand come up to hold your side, above your hip, and your eyes glanced down to see the connection take place. It was almost like you were in complete sensory overload, and you required the visual to confirm that his thumb had brushed up under the hem of your shirt slightly and was touching your bare skin. You glanced back up to his face as he was pressing his tongue to his lips, wetting them, and your instincts took over. 

You wrapped your hands around Dylan's neck and pulled him down for a passionate kiss, sliding your tongue against his lips and then into his mouth and against his own tongue. As the two of your explored, your fingers gently tugged at the neck of his shirt. Dylan was feeling just as wrapped up in the moment as you, and suddenly, he broke from the kiss. He sat up straight and pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it on the carpet next to the bed. You grabbed at his biceps, pulling his body back against yours and connecting your lips greedily against his again. His hands went back down to your sides, his fingers becoming more bold in their search for skin. He pushed your shirt and his sweatshirt up, exposing your stomach, and broke away from your lips again. You squirmed at his touch, and watched as he furrowed his brow and stared up at you, staring, almost as if he was waiting for you to tell him to stop, but you never did. 

Dylan inched his way down your body and began leaving soft kisses against your torso, his eyes closed and his nose brushing lightly against your soft skin. His fingers remained at the hem of your shirt, moving it slightly higher with each new kiss. Finally, the tips of his fingers met metal covered in cloth and he glanced back up at you. Your chest moved heavily up and down, as you breathed out of your nose. The only noises filling the room were the sounds of the ocean from outside of his open windows and the quiet pants coming from the both of you. He was met with no resistance, so Dylan curled his fingers under and gently pulled your shirt and his sweatshirt off over your head, you leaning forward to assist him. You landed back on the pillows behind you, and Dylan leaned back down to continue kissing where he had been before. 

You wriggled under his soft lips, and watched as they ascended up your body towards your chest. You held your breath for a moment and suddenly you hiccuped. Your eyes grew wide and you covered your mouth. Dylan looked up at you and a small smirk grew across his lips.

"Did you just-" You hiccuped again, and Dylan devolved into a fit of laughter. "Oh my god, that is the cutest thing I've ever heard."

"Oh my god, this is the worst thing that ever-" Hiccup. "Happened to me." You hiccuped again. Dylan began laughing loudly, his smile open and his cheekbones prominent.

"Are you a little drunk?" He asked, chuckling, and resting his chin on top of his folded hands across the skin above your belly button.

You furrowed your brow and tried to stifle another hiccup, to no avail. "That was, like, my fourth beer. I should've had-" Hiccup. "Water." You shook your head and brought your hands up over your eyes. "I really fucki-" Hiccup. "-ng ruining the moment, didn't I?" 

You felt Dylan smile against your skin, having moved his hands to hold your sides. "It's okay. I'm a little drunk too, and in actuality, I would very much like to remember any moment that you don't have your shirt on..." You felt the cool and hard surface of his teeth against your stomach, and then felt a series of kisses on your skin. You brought your hands down to his hair and began twirling it in your fingers. He nuzzled his head against you and sighed, listening to your hiccups become fewer and farther between. "You're going to sleep here, right?" He asked, hoping you wouldn't ask for him to call you a cab. 

"If that's okay with you." 

"I want you to." He glanced up at you and smiled softly. You returned the smile. "I'll grab you some shorts and a shirt." He began to climb off of you and the bed.

"Can I just have a shirt and some water?" You asked, grinning up at him. 

Dylan smiled and licked his lips, then raised his eyebrows. "Whatever you want, beautiful." He winked, and grabbed the beer bottle off the table next to you, then collected the one on the other side of the bed. He left them on his dresser and opened one of the drawers, pulling a single royal blue t-shirt out and tossing it to you on the bed. He watched as you began unbuttoning your jeans and wiggling out of them on the bed. "Yea, I'm gonna need a water too." He snickered, grabbed the beer bottles and walked out the door. 

When Dylan walked back into his bedroom, he saw you swallowed up by his shirt, laying curled up on your side, with your eyes closed. He snickered and closed the door quietly with his foot. He placed your water on your table and then placed his next to his side of the bed. He unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, stepping out of them and pulling his socks off, leaving all his excess clothing in a pile on the floor. In nothing more than a dark gray pair of cotton boxer briefs, Dylan climbed under the thin sheets with you and leaned up to turn off the lamp next to his bed. He combed his fingers through your hair, tucking it against your neck and back neatly, and mumbled to himself. 

"You are so fucking cute, and I like you so fucking much, but you are killing me with this falling asleep on me thing." He whispered. 

"I-'m not asleep..." You mumbled back. 

Dylan quietly laughed and shook his head. "Yes, you are." He argued with the half-comatose girl in his bed. 

He heard you sniffle, and then you turned your head to face him. "Mmm-mmm." You argued. "But I am falling asleep. Come here." You leaned your hand backwards, waiting for him to take it in his. Dylan obliged your request and slid his muscular body across the mattress towards yours. You felt his long and hairy legs touch your shorter and smoother ones first, then his hand found yours and you pulled his arm over your body, tugging him closer to you. "Can you actually sleep like this?" You asked, as he settled his front against your back, finally resting his head against the pillow behind yours. 

"Definitely." He whispered, suddenly yawning. 

"Just to be clear, I like you so fucking much too."

"Goodnight, little fish." Dylan spoke, barely audible.

You smirked, and squeezed Dylan's hand in yours. He placed a kiss on the side of your neck, and settled in for the night, the two of you quickly drifting off into a peaceful slumber. 

* * *

 You snuck your toothbrush back into your purse, sitting on the floor next to Dylan's dresser, and tip-toed back around to your side of the bed. Dylan was laying on his back in the middle of the bed, his left arm folded across his stomach, his head facing and right arm stretched out towards the empty space that he usually occupies when you are not sleeping with him. You climbed back under the covers with him and watched his chest rise and fall as he breathed deeply in his sleep. You propped yourself up on your elbow and stared at his bulky and muscular physique that he had been trying to keep up with even after filming for American Assassin had wrapped. Occasionally, Dylan's muscles would tense and ripple as he moved slightly in his dreams, and a large and long vein that ran from his shoulder, down his tricep, would bulge from under his skin, and before you realized it, your left hand was flat against his torso, and was making its way across his smooth skin towards the thick and dark chest hair between his pecs. 

He stirred slightly at your touch and made a soft groan. You felt like you had lost all ability to control yourself, because again, before you even realized what you were doing, you were sliding closer to him and pressing your lips against his chest. Dylan's eyes fluttered open and saw you lightly peppering his upper body with small kisses. He exhaled loudly through his nose and raised his hand to rest on the nape of your neck. You made eye contact with him, smiled and then rested your cheek against his stomach. He ran his fingers through your hair a few times, and stared. Anxiety began to fill him when he thought about his flight that evening. He had been hanging out with you for just over a month and he had grown incredibly attached. He didn't want to leave you. He thought of a solution. 

"Come with me to Comic Con. I'll buy you a plane ticket." Dylan whispered, staring into your eyes as he spoke. 

You furrowed your brow and narrowed your eyes at him, unmoving from your position, but mulling over his request. "I couldn't ask you to.."

Dylan cut you off and moved his hand from your tresses down to your shoulder. You were still wearing his shirt from the night before and he tucked his fingers up under the oversized sleeve around your arm. He gently caressed the skin on your shoulder, and rubbed your muscles as he spoke again. "You didn't ask. I'm offering. I don't want to leave you. I'm gonna be gone for days and I.... I'm just not ready to leave you..." He shook his head but maintained eye contact with you. 

You smiled big and climbed your way up towards his face. You took his cheeks in your hands and felt his strong arms wrap around your back, pulling you closer to him. You kissed his lips a few times, then pulled back so you could see his face but still be near him. "I'm not ready to have you not be here, but I can't come with you." You smiled softly and shook your head. 

Dylan dragged his teeth against his top lip and stared down at your chin, the crease that often found its place in the middle of his forehead returned. "Y/n... um..." He exhaled, but then found that the air wasn't filling his lungs the same way it had mere moments before. He was nervous. "Are... are you not as into this as I am?" He asked, pursing his lips and straining to make eye contact. 

A look of shock and horror overtook your face as you quickly shook your head and pressed your fingers into his cheeks a little harder. "No, no, no, no... Dylan.." You half scoffed, half laughed, as you paused to sort out your next words more carefully. "I like you... so fucking much. Uh... and I would not hate having a discussion about where this could maybe be going when you come back, but.."

Dylan's forehead crease remained as he cut you off. "Then why won't you come with me?"

You sighed, and a gentle lopsided smile spread across your lips. "I want to, I do, but I have to take my grandmother to a doctor's appointment, and then I promised my boss that I'd come in to the office on Thursday and Friday because I knew you wouldn't be here and I could get a lot of work done..." Your lopsided smile turned into a light smirk as the crease turned into a forehead full of wrinkles when he raised his eyebrows. "Plus, you should be able to go and fully enjoy and take in the experience of your last panel with your Teen Wolf people and you're a surprise to the fans.. I don't know. You just need to be present while you're there and just take it all in."

"Oh.." He laughed as he realized that you were just busy and not avoiding going to California with him. "You should've just said that in the first place.. and you're right, it'll be fun with Posey and everyone else. I don't need you there, you're totally right." A small grin broke out on his lips, and you playfully scowled at him, while pushing his face against the pillow underneath him for being facetious. "I want to have that talk too, just to be clear." 

Your facial expression became more serious and you nodded your head. "Okay. You get back on Tuesday or Wednesday?" You asked.

"My last day of American Assassin press is Monday and then I have to talk to my mom and the realtor about that house in Burbank that I was telling you about, but my flight is Tuesday morning and I'll be back here with you by Tuesday evening." He smiled and pulled you back up for a light kiss on the cheek. 

You dreamily smiled and closed your eyes, then dropped your head back down to his torso. You stared at your fingers as you stroked his chest hair, and he ran the backs of his fingertips along your bare legs. "What time do we have to leave?" You asked, your heart sinking into your stomach as you realized that it would be almost a week until you saw him again once he left.

Dylan looked over at the clock on his bedside table and then looked back at you. "Not for hours." He reassured you. 

"Wanna watch some Game Of Thrones or something?"

"In a bit, yea... for now, I kind of just want to lay here with you, if that's okay." You softly smiled and nodded, then cuddled up against Dylan's side.

* * *

 

You and Dylan laid around for hours, both talking and enjoying the comfortable silence. You watched him pack his duffel bag during your last episode of Game of Thrones, clutching at the crumpled sheets underneath you as he flitted about his bedroom readying himself for his trip. You did the math in your head: fifteen minutes to the train station, two and a half hours to Jamaica, twenty minutes on the Airtran and then you wouldn't see him again for six whole days. You were stunned by how deeply miserable that thought made you. It had only been about five weeks, but it was hard to not develop as strong of feelings for the man in front of you, as you had. Dylan picked his sweatshirt from last night off of the floor next to the bed where he had tossed it the night before. He gently folded it in half lengthwise and placed it on top of your purse. He told you that he wanted you to hold on to it for him while he was gone, and you happily obliged his request. 

You held his pillow in your lap, your hands gripping the underside, and Dylan's fingers sneakily intertwined with yours underneath it. You sat with your backs against the wall, side by side on the built in bench, on the monorail that took passengers from the Long Island RailRoad station in Jamaica, Queens, to JFK airport. Dylan had his royal blue and orange Mets cap on, obscuring some of his face, and he felt comfortable enough with the emptiness of the Airtrain, to occasionally leave a flurry of light kisses on your cheek every time he felt like you were getting melancholy. You stayed inside of the doors as the tram emptied once it got to the airport, and Dylan took his pillow from you. He held you in his arms and left a long kiss on your lips, as the cars filled back up with passengers seeking to leave JFK. 

"I'll see you next week." He said as he started to back up out of the tram.

"Okay." You smiled lightly, small wrinkles developing across your forehead. 

"And I'll call you and text you."

Your smile got a little bigger, and you nodded. "Okay."

"And I'll miss you." He said with a small smirk as he continued slowly walking backwards away from you. 

You chuckled quietly, and nodded. "Okay."

"And I'm going to take you to see Dunkirk the moment I get back, I promise." Dylan winked and you felt your heart melt a little. 

"You better." A genuine smile spread across your lips, and Dylan brought his hand up to his chest and faked pain, as if he had been shot through the heart by Cupid's Arrow.

"You're making this hard for me, Y/l/n." He grinned and shook his head. 

You smirked, and held your hand against the sliding door, in case it decided to close since you had heard the chimes indicating it would be leaving momentarily. "Just text me when you land?"

Dylan nodded, smiled and wiggled his fingers in unison, waving goodbye. You waved back and stepped inside fully as the doors closed. 

You hopped on the next train at Jamaica to Kew Gardens to finally go back to your own apartment. You stood with your back against the wall, in the vestibule by the doors, as it was only one stop and there was no point in sitting. You scrolled through your phone, aimlessly snapping pictures of your feet against the textured floor to send to your friends to continue your SnapStreaks, until Dylan's name popped up on the banner at the top of your screen. You quickly pressed your thumb against the iMessage notification and waited for the screen to load. 

Dylan O'Brien: Just got to my gate.. That smile killed me.

Dylan O'Brien: I miss you already.

You grinned from ear to ear, trying to contain your excitement and smitten feelings. You rubbed your hand against your mouth and cheeks and tried to compose yourself enough to reply. 

Y/n Y/l/n: i miss you, got the sweatshirt though, so i may live.

Y/n Y/l/n: get home soon please.

Dylan smiled down at his screen and stared at the last text. 'home'. New York was home to him because it was where he was born and where he spent the first several years of his life, but when he talked to people about 'home' in more recent years, he was always referring to California. But when you said 'home' and you meant New York, Dylan realized that it felt right. The idea of 'home' was changing for him suddenly and he had an idea as to why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is meant to be July 18th and 19th.


	8. San Diego Convention Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan has an uncomfortable run in at San Diego Comic Con.

“Bro, I am so emotional today, I can’t even talk about  _Teen Wolf_ before the panel or I’m gonna lose it. Can we please talk about something else?” Tyler complained to Colton.

“Fine. Let’s talk about you. Bella Thorne?  _Really_ , Ty?” Colton teased and Dylan snickered.

“Oh, yea, this is a better topic for him.” Dylan mumbled sarcastically, without looking up from his phone.

“I mean, honestly, Tyler, what were you thinking? She’s kind of trashy and she was way too young for you.” Colton criticized Posey over his choice in women.

Posey chuckled and shook his head. “Nah, man, be nice. She’s hot and, she’s actually really sweet… and what are you talking about? Jeff is like twenty years older than you.” Tyler countered, bringing up Colton’s fiancé.

“Yes, but I’m almost thirty and we’re in love,

 so..” Colton pretended to glare at his old friend, and then observed Shelley walk by with Linden and Melissa while staring at Dylan, who didn’t notice any of the exchange. He turned back to Tyler, who simply shrugged. “You not talking to Shelley?” Colton leaned over and asked Dylan, who was sitting in the holding room in the basement of the convention center with the rest of his cast, scrolling through articles about the Mets on his phone.

He looked up at Colton and then glanced over at his estranged friend, then bobbed his head to the side. “Not really, I guess. I think Britt won her in the divorce.” Dylan barely laughed at his own joke.

“How you holding up, buddy? You look good..” Tyler gripped Dylan’s shoulder and massaged it for a moment.

Dylan’s mouth turned up at the corner and he clicked his phone off. “Thanks, Pose. You look good too.” Tyler smirked and Colton shook his head and laughed at the two best friends. “I’m doing good though.” Dylan paused as Sprayberry sat down next to Tyler and joined their conversation. “I’ve just been hanging out, you know? Enjoying New York and shit.” Dylan smirked, then rolled his lips back into his mouth to suppress the involuntary smile. He began jiggling his leg as he watched Colton and Tyler smirk at each other.

“What’s her name?” Colton asked smugly.

“Y/n.” Tyler answered with a grin.

“Is  _she_  an appropriate age?” Colton made a playful dig at Tyler over their earlier conversation.

Dylan chuckled and folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back in his chair. He was relaxed getting to talk about you. He knew that they would be the easiest questions he’d get to answer all day. “Yea, she’s like ten months older than me.”

“How’d you meet her? What does she look like? Give me the details, man.” Colton prodded, leaning forward and poking Dylan in the knee with his fingers. Tyler leaned forward a smidge as well, curious to learn more about the girl that Dylan had been spending his summer with.

Dylan unlocked his phone and pulled up the photo that was taken of the two of you by Jay at Silly Lilly’s weeks earlier. He handed the phone to Colton, who zoomed in on your face, and tilted the screen so that Tyler could see it too. “Yo, she’s hot. Who is that?” Dylan Sprayberry said as he glanced over Tyler’s shoulder at the phone.

“Dyl’s little summer hook up,  _or_?” Colton teased, tilting his head to the side.

“We’re figuring it out when I get back next week.” Dylan smiled.

“Sick, dude. Yo, Khylin, Shell and I are going upstairs for a smoke, you coming?” Sprayberry asked Dylan.

Dylan smiled and shook his head. “Nah, actually, I’m good.”

Tyler cocked his head back and smirked at Dylan. “You finally quit?”

Dylan bobbed his head back and forth. “I mean, it was never that serious, but since I’ve been hanging out with Y/n, and she fucking hates smoking, I haven’t really been doing it anymore, especially the past two weeks.” Dylan clarified.

“So she’s a good influence too?” Tyler asked, his mouth in a full on grin.

Dylan nodded, then stared down at the floor and thought about you, a massive smile breaking out on his lips. “She’s pretty phenomenal actually.”

“What’s she like? What does she do? What have you guys been doing?” Colton pried. “Give us the deets.”

Dylan laughed and then began rubbing at the slight stubble growing on his jaw. “Okay, well, she went to Boston College with Julia, and that’s how I met her. She’s really smart, and funny and fun and she’s always down to do whatever, and she’s really adventurous and active, so she’s really got me out and doing things, which is good, but at the same time, we’ve burned through like five seasons of  _Game of Thrones_  in about a month, so she’s also kind of a homebody, which I love, and she’s obviously beautiful…” Dylan gestured to his phone, resting on top of his knee, reminding them of the picture he had just shown them. “She’s got great taste in movies and tv and music…” Dylan looked at Tyler. “Actually, bro, you’d fucking love her taste in music. I was going through her iTunes the other day and she had all this shit you listen to.”

“Yo, she’s from Long Island, right?” Tyler asked, having been caught up a little more about you by Dylan beforehand than Colton or Sprayberry. Dylan nodded. “You think she listens to Bayside?”

Dylan snickered and then picked up his phone. “Let’s find out.. It’s early enough that she maybe hasn’t left for work yet.”

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Hey, you. I’m talking about you to Colton and Tyler and DylSpray, and Ty wants to know if you listen to Bayside_.

“What does she do?” Sprayberry asked, as they all watched Dylan compose the text to you.

“She wants to be a journalist or work for a non-profit maybe, but for now, she works a couple of part-time jobs and just travels a lot. She had been all over Asia this spring, and was in Vietnam when she had to come home unexpectedly.” Dylan explained, glancing at his phone again to see if you had texted him back yet. You hadn’t.

“Damn, she’s a world traveler then.” Colton smirked, and raised his eyebrows.

Dylan laughed and nodded. “Yea, we watched the new trailer for  _AA_ and she immediately clocked one of the filming locations as Piazza Navona. It was crazy.”

“So what’ve you guys been doing in New York?” Sprayberry asked still sitting next to Tyler, not having gone up to smoke with Shelley and Khylin, instead getting wrapped up in hearing Dylan’s updates.

Dylan smiled genuinely and rubbed the screen of his phone against his black trousers. “We’ve been watching a ton of  _Thrones_ , so that’s definitely one. We went paddleboarding and surfing and kayaking, and um, we’ve been walking her dog a bunch and just kind of hanging out at the beach. We’ve gone on a few hikes, and I took her to see  _Spider-Man_ …” Dylan paused to try to remember all of the dates that you had been on since you got back from Kansas. “We’ve been in the city a bunch too. I took her to a Mets game, regardless of the fact that she’s a die-hard Yankees fan.”

Tyler cut him off. “Dude, what? You’re hanging out with a Yankees fan? That’s so fucking weird for you.”

Dylan laughed loudly and nodded. “I know. But what I learned from that date is that, while she will heckle me and tell me that Derek Jeter or Andy Pettite wouldn’t have made that mistake, or whatever bullshit, she is actually just a New York baseball fan at heart, and she knew a lot about my Mets and she was shitting on the Rockies for the entire game. It was fucking great.” Dylan smiled and thought back on how much fun he had at the baseball game with you. He continued listing off the things you had done. “What else..? We went to a winery on the North Fork. We went to The Met and she showed me all her favorite art. We saw  _Six Degrees of Separation_  on Broadway…”

Colton interrupted. “Oh my god, how was Allison Janney?” He asked.

Dylan smirked and then felt his phone buzz. “She was really good.” He grinned as he handed his phone to Tyler, showing him what you had texted him back.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _i’m a Long Islander.. i think i would get my ass kicked if i didn’t listen to Bayside_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _i’m at work, so i had to dig through my pictures, but show this to Posey._

“ **WHOA. WHAT THE FUCK, BRO**!” Posey yelled, an excited smile spread across his face. “She collects records  _and_  has Bayside? Is she part of the Cult? Dude,  _dude_.. I am so stoked on this chick right now. I’m texting her back.”

Dylan laughed and let Posey do what he wanted, trusting his best friend not to make an ass of himself. “So, yea, we’ve been doing a lot and I really like her and we’ve just been having a lot of fun. It’s been a really good summer so far.”

“What does your sister think about you basically dating one of her friends?” Colton asked.

Dylan watched as Tyler and Sprayberry took a goofy selfie and sent it to you and he smirked and shook his head, then turned back to answer Colton’s question. “She actually doesn’t know.”

“How does Julia not know, man?” Sprayberry asked.

“Quit pressuring him, guys. It’s new.” Tyler teased Dylan and handed him back his phone. “She’s hella cool, bro. Definitely an upgrade. Keep her.”

Dylan laughed, and a small blush rose to his cheeks, which he tried to hide as he began rubbing the sides of his face and jaw with his hand. “Yea, she’s really great, but uh, I don’t know. We haven’t even discussed if it’s just like a summer fling kind of deal or if this could potentially go somewhere yet.. Plus, I’m a little afraid that Jules is going to be pissed, either at me or at Y/n or at us both, and I just don’t want that.”

“Julia always seemed cool, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Colton reassured his old friend, and Dylan bobbed his head to the side, and began chewing on his bottom lip.

“Hate to break up this reunion, boys, but we’re heading up. Dyl, sweetie, you’re going up in the next elevator.” Melissa walked over in her vibrant floral dress and beautiful black curls, and prompted the group to get going up to the panel. Colton and Sprayberry followed her over to the large service elevator that would take them up to the convention hall, but Tyler stayed behind and put his hand on Dylan’s knee.

“Dyl, you seem much better, but I missed you, dude.”

Dylan smiled and leaned forward to place his hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “I missed you too, man. I’ll be out here a little more next month, I go back to New York pretty quickly this week though.”

Tyler nodded and stood, Dylan following suit, and he embraced his best friend in a tight hug. “I love you, bro. I can’t believe we’re about to do this.”

“I love you too, Ty. I’ll see you upstairs, alright?” Dylan patted him on the shoulder and watched as he walked off to join the rest of the cast in the elevator.

Dylan sat back down; he knew it would be about five minutes before he would get to go upstairs to the panel. He checked his phone. He had seven text messages.

 **Holland Roden** :  _Dyl, have fun today. Enjoy it for the both of us_.

 **Holland Roden** :  _I miss you tons. We have to get dinner the next time we’re both in LA_.

 **Holland Roden** :  _And don’t ignore Shelley. The two of you were best friends. Just try to remember that. Loveeee you. <3_

 **Tyler Hoechlin** :  _Love you too boo boo_.

Dylan snickered at the text from Tyler, and scrolled past one from his mom that he swore he would answer later, and one from Taylor Kitsch stating how excited he was to start press and see him again. Then he got to the text he wanted to see:  _yours_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _YO, YOU SHOULD COME OUT FOR A HOMETOWN BAYSIDE SHOW. IT’LL BE DOPE_.

Dylan laughed out loud, took a screenshot of the text conversation, and sent it off to Posey. He then went back to text you.

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Posey is in love with you now_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _can i assume this is my Dyl and not Sprayberry?_

Dylan’s heart skipped a beat over the words, ’ _my Dyl_ ’. An uncontrollable smirk broke out across his face.

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _It’s your Dyl. I miss you a lot_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _you’re the cutest. i miss you too. :( what are you up to right now_?

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _I’m about to go upstairs to the panel. I’m really nervous actually._

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _you’re going to have the time of your life. enjoy it. try to take moments every so often to just look around and take it all in. you’re going to do great :)_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _:)_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _You’re the best. I’ll talk to you later tonight. Have a good day_.

He locked his phone screen, shoved it in his pocket, scrunched the left sleeve of his dark gray henley, and stood up to follow the security guard upstairs to do his final  _Teen Wolf_  panel ever.

* * *

After the emotional and bittersweet panel was over, Dylan had to do interviews and attend some small sponsored parties with his cast mates. It didn’t matter that he kept getting seated next to Shelley, he was flying high on endorphins over how well the day was going, and how supported he felt by you; always sitting in his front pocket, a call or text away if he needed you. He decided to take Holland’s advice, and pulled Shelley aside before the IMDB interview with Kevin Smith. They talked for a few minutes, with Dylan reassuring her that they were still friends and he still loved her, and her apologizing for what Britt did to him. They hugged it out and Dylan began feeling much more relaxed.

Dylan was feeling good enough, and slightly intoxicated enough that, along with some security, he decided to walk through the floor of the convention center to interact with the fans a little more before leaving. He walked through with Tyler, Sprayberry, Cody and Khylin and the moment that they hit the floor, they were swarmed. They managed to get about half way through the building when they came across the cast of  _Riverdale_  finishing up their signing event and being pulled away to their panel.

“ _Shit_ … fuck shit, shit.” Tyler whispered as he saw Dylan connect his eyes with none other than Britt. “We have to go…” Tyler tugged on Dylan’s shirt, but didn’t get him to move.

“Dude, people are watching.” Cody commented, scanning the crowd that was forming.

“Cody’s right. Just say hi, and leave… fuck.” Dylan whispered to Tyler.

“Well, this isn’t going to be good.” Khylin mumbled as he watched Dylan’s ex-girlfriend approaching rapidly with a smile on her face.

“Hey, Dyl. I was wondering if I was going to see you today.” She hugged Dylan, who’s breath hitched in the back of his throat as he smelled the familiar fruity scent of her shampoo. “Hey, T-Pose.” Britt tried to lighten the mood and went to hug Tyler, but he backed up slightly and simply nodded at her. “Hey guys.” She smiled at Cody, Sprayberry and Khylin behind the two older boys. The three of them simply smiled and waved halfheartedly. “So, I heard the panel went well.”

Dylan glanced around him and noticed the increasing presence of camera phones being lifted in the air around them, trying to get a shot of the awkward Hollywood couple reunion. He pursed his lips and raised his eyebrows. “Yea, it was good.”

“Listen, we gotta go..” Tyler interjected, but was quickly cut off by a fan who got through the security barrier around them.

“Oh my god, oh my god. Oh my god, can I please get a picture? Oh my god, this is so exciting. Please?” She glanced between the cast and Britt.

Tyler smiled and nodded and positioned the sweet young girl in between him and Dylan. Cody, Sprayberry and Khylin all gathered around to join the photo-op, but before the security guard could snap the picture, the young fan grabbed Britt’s arm and pulled her in. “Please, I am so glad the rumors weren’t true and you two are still together. You have to be in the picture. I loved  _A Dog’s Purpose_ so much.”

Dylan sighed and lightly put his arm around Britt’s shoulders as she wrapped hers around his waist and they all stood for a moment for the picture. “Thanks, sweetheart.” Tyler hugged the fan one last time before security escorted her back outside of the group.

“Dyl, can I talk to you really quick?” Britt asked in a hushed tone.

Dylan pursed his lips and exhaled deeply, still feeling the eyes of a third of the convention center resting intently on their exchange. He was both grateful and miserable over the next interruption.

“Hey, babe, we’re going in, are you coming?” Dylan looked over and immediately recognized the fake orange mop of hair talking to Britt. He connected eyes with the younger man and felt sick. “H-hey, man.. Good to see you.” KJ hesitantly extended his hand out to Dylan’s and Dylan shook it reluctantly. Dylan didn’t say a word.

“Yea, yea, I’m coming right now…” Britt told KJ, then returned her gaze to her ex. “Um, I’ll see you or text you, okay?”

Dylan simply pursed his lips and quirked his eyebrows up, then watched her walk away with her hand in KJ’s. “Let’s get the fuck out of here… Spray, give me your cigarettes.” Dylan turned and looked at his friends, then held out his hand as Sprayberry placed the entire pack in Dylan’s palm. “Let’s go.”

Dylan smoked in the car with Khylin and Sprayberry all the way to the hotel, then chain smoked the rest of Dylan’s pack until his hands stopped shaking. He felt the anxiety begin to melt off of him as the thick smoke filled his lungs, and finally he relaxed.

* * *

Dylan decided to stay in instead of going out with Tyler and the rest of his cast mates, and laid on the large and white king sized bed in his hotel room. He checked his phone. He had four texts from Posey, checking in on him, one more from his mom and seven from Britt. He couldn’t stand to read any of them. The one person that he wanted to talk to had not texted him once since that morning. He felt doubt and panic begin to creep into his mind, and he finally tossed his phone across the room, landing gently on the carpeted floor.

He pulled his hands up to his face and rubbed hard against his closed eyes, trying to stave off the early stages of a stress headache. He decided to get up, grab his phone and just call you. He was certain that you weren’t texting him because you wanted him to enjoy his time with his cast, but he needed to hear your voice and make sure that your silence wasn’t something more. He tapped your number and watched as the call connected and began ringing. It rang and rang and then went to voicemail.

“ _You’ve reached Y/n’s cell, I’m probably in a different country, you really should just email me._ ” He smiled at your soft snicker. “ _Leave me a message and I’ll maybe get back to you. Thanks._ ”

He was both frustrated by you not answering, and also instantly calmed by the sound of your voice. He began speaking after the beep. “Hey.. Uh, I just..” He glanced at the clock under his hotel TV and shook his head. “I just realized what time it is there and now I’m grateful that you didn’t answer and I didn’t wake you. I’ll just talk to you tomorrow. I hope you had a good day… I miss you….. okay, yea, bye.”

Dylan sat down at the foot of his bed, placed his phone next to him, leaned his elbows against his thighs, and shoved his hands against his face. He felt the skin of his cheeks and lips move up and down with the movement of his hands. He thought about calling you again, just to get your voicemail and hear your voice one last time. He decided that running out and getting a pack of cigarettes would probably be a more thoughtful solution, and wouldn’t run the risk of waking you up at two in the morning. He sighed heavily and scanned the room for where he had left his shoes. He walked over to his suitcase and pick them up off of the floor when he heard a gentle knocking at his door.

He walked over and opened it. “Hey.” He said with complete and utter surprise spreading over his face.

“ _Hi_.”

* * *

* * *

* * *


	9. Salsa and Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan goes through a rollercoaster of emotions after an unexpected visitor shows up to his hotel room in San Diego, until he finally comes to a conclusion about Y/n.

Dylan handed his menu back to the waitress and smiled as she walked away. He then turned his attention back to his best friend sitting across from him, examining the lunch hour crowd around them in the crowded Burbank restaurant. "Thanks for coming down here for lunch, man."

Tyler turned his head as he heard Dylan's voice and he smiled. "No problem, bro. I was just chilling today since all the Comic Con craziness from last week is finally over. How long do you have until you have to be back at the hotel for the rest of the _American Assassin_ press?" He asked, leaning back as the waitress brought over their beers. 

"They gave us like two hours, or something. We've got time." Dylan clarified while smushing his slice of lime down the neck of his Corona Light. 

"So what happened on Thursday night?" Tyler asked, getting straight to the point of why Dylan frantically texted him asking if he could come out on his lunch break . 

"Britt came to my hotel room."

"No fucking way, bro... What the fuck did she want?" Tyler's patience for his best friend's ex ceased to exist months before, specifically in the moment that Dylan told him she cheated.

Dylan pushed his elbows against the tabletop and ran his fingers hard against his scalp. "She came in and it was just weird, man. Like, I know what she did and I know she's with KJ but like, I'm not completely over her and being back around her, I don't know..." Dylan trailed off when he heard Tyler groan. 

"Dude, seriously? She fucking cheated on you, and last week, you were going on and on about Y/n and you were hella stoked and you seemed happy and like you liked her... Why are you even giving Britt the time of day still?" Tyler asked, leaning across the table to scold his best friend. 

Dylan sighed and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "I know all of this. I know, Ty, and I do really like Y/n, but like a part of me missed Britt and I was about to start this press tour and I knew I would have to talk about what happened last year with the accident and it was weirdly comforting being able to talk to her about how nervous I was for today because she was there for all of it last year." Dylan explained, rubbing his fingers against the condensation on the bottle in front of him, and not making eye contact with Posey. 

"Is that all that happened?" Tyler asked, raising his eyebrow suspiciously.

Dylan contorted his mouth to the side and took a sip of his drink. "Nah, she stayed for about an hour, and we talked about how I was doing since the accident and since I last saw her and what I've been doing out in New York and how her and KJ were doing and she just kept... like, touching my arm and my leg and hinting that she missed me and they weren't doing well, and I don't fucking know, man. I'm so fucking confused right now." Dylan rubbed his fingers into his right eye and leaned back in the booth, staring up at the light in the center of their table on the ceiling. 

"Chipotle chicken flautahs and the carne asada tacos." The waitress put the dishes down in front of Dylan and Tyler, handed them their utensils and walked away.

Dylan began to cut at his flautahs as Tyler jumped back into their conversation. "When she asked what you were doing in New York, did you tell her about Y/n?"

Dylan shook his head as he finished chewing and swallowed. "I don't know why I didn't either. She has a boyfriend. She's dating KJ, and I like Y/n.. so much... and, oh god, she also fucking told me that Mary told her that that picture that the girl took of all of us on the convention floor, with Britt, was the first good bit of press that Britt's gotten since we broke up, and apparently Mary wants us to get back together, which I think I knew anyway, but..." Dylan explained, referring to the talent manager that he still shared with Britt. 

"Dude, you need a new fucking manager, bro." Tyler mumbled through the food in his mouth. "Or at least one that you don't share with your ex." 

Dylan laughed quietly and nodded. "I know..." 

Tyler licked his fingers, after polishing off the first of his three tacos, and then took a swig of his Dos Equis. "Listen, Dyl, I get it. You and Britt dated for like six years?"

"Yea." Dylan confirmed.

"And she was there for you last year when you really needed it and you were really in love with her, I get that. I get all of it, but dude, it will always come back to the fact that she cheated on you, big time. Twice. I think you're just, like, going through a lot this weekend, with like the end of _Teen Wolf_ stuff and having to talk about the accident for the first time publicly, and running into her and Apa, and you're just like grasping for something familiar and comfortable." 

Dylan snickered. "You're so deep, bro." 

"Am I wrong though? For real, like, I think you just need to go back to New York - as much as I've been missing having you in L.A. - and you need to see Y/n and see if you still like her or if she still makes you as happy as you were Thursday morning when you were telling me and the dudes about her, cause you seemed stoked and happy and like you were actually having fun, dude." 

Dylan's lips turned up into a smile. "She is the most fun, dude. I have been thinking about her a ton... She's sweet and smart and funny and nerdy, and she can talk baseball and I don't feel awkward around her. I feel a lot like my old self when I'm with her, like, really positive and upbeat like I was before last summer." Dylan then let his mouth turn down into a frown. "What if she's a rebound though, Ty? I don't want to hurt her."

"Do you think she is? I mean, I've never fucking talked about a rebound like that before." Tyler took a large bite of his second taco and watched as Dylan contemplated his question. 

Dylan slowly began to shake his head. "I don't think she's a rebound. I really actually like her."

"Then lean into it, dude. Lean on her, and bring her out here so I can meet her." Tyler snickered. 

"Yea, maybe my birthday, dude."

* * *

Dylan was exhausted when he finally finished his long day of _American Assassin_ press interviews. He laid down on his couch the moment he got home. His West Hollywood apartment was quiet and sparse since he hadn't been in it for months. He looked around and was grateful that he had decided to put the place on the market to sell. It had too many old memories from a life that he didn't really want any part of anymore. He pressed his phone against his ear and listened as the line rang a few times.

" _Hello_?" A groggy sounding voice mumbled from the other end.

Dylan glanced over to the clock on his TV cable box and smacked his palm against his forehead. "Shit. How do I keep doing this? I forgot about the time difference. Go back to sleep. I'm sorry."

" _No, no, it's okay, I'm glad you called. I wasn't, like, deeply asleep_." You told him, trying to wake up more.

"You're glad I called?" Dylan asked, a smile spreading across his face.

" _Mhmm. How was your day? How was all of the press? What'd people think about the movie? Tell me all of it._ " You peppered him with questions. You hadn't really talked to him while he had been back in Los Angeles and you missed being a part of his day, or at least hearing about it.

"It was hard. It's been a rough trip. I got lunch with Posey this afternoon though at that place you told us to go to. Did you know that it's like less than five miles away from the house I'm buying in Burbank? Did I tell you that?" Dylan asked, settling in on the couch cushions, closing his eyes, and feeling calm because you were the one on the other end of the line.

 " _YOU WENT TO SALSA AND BEER?_!" You yelled. " _Shit, that was probably too loud. Oops. Ah, who fucking cares? Was it amazing? Did you get the flautahs? Are you converted? Oh my god, tell me everything._ " 

Dylan laughed loudly and felt his cheekbones pushing up against the bottoms of his eyes. "We went to Salsa and Beer, and you were right. It was literally the best Mexican food I have ever had. Posey and I are one-hundred percent going back, and he said that you obviously have to come with us next time since you introduced us." 

" _Fuck yes, I will go with you. You literally will never have to ask me twice when it comes to Salsa and Beer. Fuck. I miss that place._ " You sighed into the phone and then laughed when you heard Dylan laugh. " _So how was the rest of your day? You said it was hard? Do.. do you want to talk about it?_ " You asked. 

Dylan rubbed his hand against his torso and felt the spaces between his ribs in between his fingers. He shook his head. "I promise I will tell you all about it when I get back tomorrow, but I literally just wanted to hear your voice. I needed that cheering up." 

" _Oh my god, O'Brien. You are making me blush._   _My voice cheers you up?_ " You asked, picking at the paint on the wall above your headboard, a massive grin plastered across your face. 

Dylan pressed his fingers against his turned up lips and laughed quietly. "It really fucking does... So, um, if you don't have to be going back to sleep immediately, would you mind telling me about your day, yesterday and today? Like from start to finish." Dylan requested. "Please." He added, rolling his lips back towards his tongue and smirking. 

" _Okay, well, yesterday, I woke up and hopped on a train into the city. Oh my god, Dyl, the weather was perfect yesterday. I grabbed my laptop and those briefs I've been working on and just went to Bryant Park and laid in the grass and read and..._ "

Dylan quietly hummed every so often to let you know that he was engaged in your story, but he was also thinking about his conversation with Tyler earlier that afternoon. Tyler was right. You were anything but a rebound to Dylan. He had butterflies from hearing your voice and he found himself feeling more complete when he knew how your day was and what you did. He wanted to be involved in your life. He was more attached than he had realized and he was happy that you were the one that he found. He spoke to you for about an hour until he heard you yawn, then he forced you to hang up and go back to bed. He milled around his apartment until he finally passed out himself, but the smile that returned to his face after he heard your voice, never left. 

* * *

Dylan sat in Los Angeles International Airport, waiting to board his flight back to New York, reading through articles about whether or not Yoenis Cespedes would return for the rest of the Mets' regular season due to his hamstring injury, when a text message banner dropped down from the top of his iPhone. 

 **Britt Robertson** : _You still in town?_

Dylan felt his stomach turn as he stared at her name at the top of his screen. He hovered his fingers over the keyboard and felt like he was going to be sick. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _At LAX now._

He stared as the typing bubble popped up and then a new text message followed very shortly after.

 **Britt Robertson** : _I was hoping to see you again while you were still here but it was good to see you when I did. I missed talking to you, Dyl_. 

Dylan's stomach leapt into his throat and he dropped his phone into his lap. He slunk low in his chair, the back of his head pressing against the top of the seatback, and pushing his backwards Mets cap forward onto his forehead. He pulled his hat off and placed it on top of his phone on his leg. He rubbed his hands over his face and into his hair, massaging his fingers into his scalp. 

"This is so fucked up." He whispered to himself. He sat back up in the black cushioned chair and placed his hat back on his head, bill facing forward this time, hoping no one recognized him in the scene that he felt like he had just made. He began composing a text back, letting his tinge of anger over Britt texting him and ruining the good mood he had been in over getting to go back to New York to see you, take over. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _You still with KJ_?

 **Britt Robertson** : _Dyl_...

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Yes or no?_

 **Britt Robertson** : _You know I am_...

 **Britt Robertson** : _But that doesn't still mean that it wasn't good to see you, or I don't miss you_.

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Text me when you aren't with the guy you cheated on me with, Britt_.

 **Dylan O'Brien:** _Or don't text me at all. That works for me too._

Dylan hit the back arrow on their conversation and searched for your name. He clicked on your iMessage conversation and began composing a message to you, swiping up against the banner that said that Britt had texted him two more times. He didn't care to see what her reply was. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Hey, I know you wanted to see Dunkirk tonight, and I know I already bought tickets, but do you mind if we do that tomorrow night instead and just chill tonight_?

He waited a couple of minutes, scrolling back through his conversations with you and smiling over the picture of you in the subway next to an _American Assassin_ poster with a silly caption below. The conversation scrolled back to the bottom when you finally replied. 

 **Y/n Y/l/n** : _sure, whatever you want to do is fine with me. are you okay though?_

Dylan smiled. He liked how in tune with his feelings you already were, but he didn't want to worry you with the truth of Britt messing with his head. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _I'm good. Just want to be awake for the movie and your inevitable freak out_. 

 **Y/n Y/l/n** : _mmm i do love Chris Nolan_. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Nerd_ ;)

 **Y/n Y/l/n** : _get that winking shit out of here, O'Brien. you know what it does to me_!

Dylan laughed and shook his head, and just like that, you had put him back in a good mood. He was smitten.

* * *

Dylan rang the buzzer to your apartment in the lobby, and waited. He checked the time on his phone and wondered if you had heard him, so he rang it a little bit longer the second time. Suddenly, you came bounding down the stairs and opened the glass door in front of you. Dylan grinned, dropped his bags to the ground and scooped you up in his arms, your feet no longer even close to touching the floor below. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulled his hat from his head, and leaned in for a blissed out kiss. You squealed as Dylan tugged you tightly against him and he laughed at the noise. 

"I'm so glad you're back." You couldn't help but admit, as he gently lowered you back to the floor. 

Dylan picked his duffel bag off the ground and smiled up at you as you lowered his hat back onto his head then fumbled with your keys to open the door back up. "I'm so glad to be back too, but if all your welcome back's are going to be like that, I might have to leave much more often." 

You playfully glared at him behind you and began walking up the stairs to your apartment. "Um, so because your flight was so late, they weren't supposed to be, but now my sister and her fiancé are home and yea..." 

Dylan smiled and shrugged. "Let's meet them. It's um, Maddie and Ryan, right?" You nodded and then opened the front door, walking in first, and leaving it open as Dylan walked in behind you.

He grabbed your free hand, as the other held his pillow, and followed you towards the sound of the TV playing in the living room. "Uh, guys..." You got your sister and her fiancé's attention, and they looked surprised when there was more than just you standing in he hallway. "This is Dylan, um, he is.. my friend." You couldn't help but smirk back at him as you realized that now that the two of you were making your relationship more public than just the two of you, you really needed to have that discussion. "Dyl, this is Maddie and Ryan." 

Maddie and Ryan stood and greeted Dylan. Neither of them recognized him, or at least, not enough that they let on, and Dylan stood around and talked to them for a few minutes. Maddie could not stop smirking at you, as you dreamily stared up at Dylan while he talked and he kept his fingers wrapped around yours. You hadn't brought a guy back home since your ex, and she was surprised that she didn't realize that you had been seeing someone. Finally, you cut the conversation off and pulled Dylan into your bedroom. He closed the door behind him and gently placed his duffel and backpack on the floor next to him. He walked over and embraced you into another hug. The two of you stood in silence, swaying back and forth as he cradled you against his body. He exhaled a sigh and sat down on the foot of your bed. 

"What do you want to do tonight? We can stay in or-" You asked before he cut you off. 

He scrunched his face and shook his head. "Nah, no.. no.. I uh, let's go do something. I know I said I didn't want to earlier but, ever since you told me about going to Bryant Park and just finding a patch of grass, all I've been thinking about is lying around outside with you somewhere."

You smiled and stepped forward, your hands connecting with his, as he began to pull you closer. Dylan brought his knees together and pulled you over to straddle his lap. You sat on his thighs and wrapped your legs around his waist, and your arms around his neck. He buried his head against the crook of your neck, and rubbed his cold hands up underneath the back of your tank top. You ran your fingers through his hair and furrowed your brow, something felt off. 

"Are you okay?" You whispered. 

You felt Dylan nod his head, his soft hair tickling your neck as he did, and his warm breath leaving goosebumps on your skin as he spoke. "I think I just missed you more than I realized. I'm just so glad to be back and to be here with you right now." 

You felt your heart skip several beats over his sweet words. You didn't enjoy how out of step you had been feeling with him while he was gone, but you were happy that the two of you were settling back into each other so easily now that he was back. "I missed you... like a lot... a whole lot." You whispered into the shorter strands of hair on the back of his head, stroking them down towards his neck as you whispered your truth. 

Dylan finally tilted his head up, stared at your lips in front of him, licked his, and then leaned forward until his lips met yours in a tender embrace. He tilted his head slightly to the side and pulled you tight against him. You exhaled into the kiss, and a small moan rolled out of your throat. You felt Dylan's lips curl up against yours and it made you smile. 

He pulled back and looked up into your y/e/c eyes, and felt complete and utter bliss. "You make me very happy, Y/n." 

The two of you, both generally fidgety people, were incredibly still in that moment. You gripped his shoulders and he held your back and sides, and you just stared longingly into each other's eyes. "You make me very happy."

"We'll have to discuss the logistics a little more, and to be honest, I don't really want to do that tonight..." He said, pausing with a lopsided frown, as he glanced up to gauge your reaction. You simply nodded, so he continued. "...but I don't want this to just be a summer thing. I'm working on getting a role in this show that shoots here in New York in the fall, so I'll be sticking around a while longer, but for now, until we talk more about this, can I at least be upgraded from your ' _friend_ ' to the ' _guy you're dating_ ' or ' _going on dates with_ ' or whatever you want to call it?" 

You could feel the hot red blush covering your face as you grinned and nodded. "The guy I'm dating." You told him what you would call him until the two of you were ready for a deeper conversation about the definition of your relationship. "Man I am dating, are you hungry?" You grinned down at him. 

"Starving." 

"Do you want to change?" Dylan shook his head. "Then let's go."

* * *

"So how'd you hear about this place?" Dylan looked around the Mexican restaurant in the Chelsea neighborhood of Manhattan. 

You looked up from behind your menu and smiled at Dylan, his skin glowing a warm red from the chili pepper string lights strewn about the ceiling of the restaurant. "I actually don't remember who told me about it, but it's so good... I mean, it's not Salsa and Beer good, but it's good enough." You rolled your eyes and shrugged, a subtle smile resting on your mouth. 

You both ordered your food and waited for your drinks to come, as you continued your conversation. "I thought that maybe because it's so hot out, after dinner, we could walk The Highline and then go up to the rooftop on The Standard and get a nightcap. It shouldn't be too crowded." You tried to reassure him, knowing that he wasn't one for busy hotspots. 

Dylan smiled and shook his head. He may not have been fond of places with a ton of people who might recognize him, but he knew your love for Manhattan on a warm summer night and he was willing to do whatever made you happy. "Can we hang out on the rolling chairs by the water thing on The Highline for a little first?" Dylan asked, reaching across the table and taking your hand in his, and rubbing the center of your palm with his thumb.

You nodded slowly, a grin resting permanently on your lips as long as he remained holding your hand. You sipped on your mojito and Dylan chuckled as he watched you tear off a piece of the crushed mint leaves floating towards the top of your drink and began chewing on it. He loved all of your quirky habits. "So what happened with the house near Posey's in Burbank?" You asked, wanting to hear more about Dylan's trip. 

"My mom has been really amazing with the realtor and she thinks that it's going to be a go, so I think I'm going to own my first home within the next few weeks. I'm gonna sign for it when I head back out that way for the Alamo Drafthouse screening thing in the middle of August." Dylan explained. 

"That's amazing. I don't even have proper health insurance and you are buying your first home. Clearly, you are doing something right." You laughed. 

"Yea, but I haven't traveled all over the world, so clearly...." Dylan trailed off, and started to stare behind your head. 

"What is it?" You started darting your glances around the room, trying to figure out what quieted him down.

"I think I know who told you about this restaurant..." Dylan said, still staring behind you. 

You turned around, the waiter was blocking your view of who was standing by the front door, waiting to be seated. "Who is it?" 

"So, Julia and Collette just walked in, and I completely fucking forgot that my own sister lives in Chelsea and that that is where we are right now." Dylan pursed his lips and stared at you. "What do you want to do right now?"

Your eyes grew wide. You weren't sure that you were ready for your relationship with Dylan to become so public yet. You stuttered. "We-well.. She's your sister... s-so, what do you want to do?" 

Dylan thought for only a split second, and then he laid his hand back down on the edge of the table, his palm facing up, beckoning yours to return. "I want to tell her. You're the girl I'm dating, and I'm proud of that." Dylan waited for you to place your hand in his, committing to going public with your relationship, and he smiled warmly at you when you finally did. "She's walking over here." Dylan updated you, the grin on his face widening as the anticipation rose. 

"Why do I feel like I missed something?" Julia said facetiously, as she walked over to the table and finally clocked that she knew the girl sitting at the table with her little brother. 

You flagged down the waiter to get him to bring two more chairs over so that Julia and Collette could join you, as Dylan stood and hugged his sister, who he hadn't seen in over a week. The waiter brought the chairs and extra menus over and everyone settled back in and ordered, then Julia began her line of questioning. 

"I'm so confused as to what we just walked in on.." Julia finally asked. "How long has this been going on? What even is going on? You know... I knew you were dating someone..."

"Unless they aren't dating..." Collette quirked her eyebrows up and smirked. 

"That's my brother and our friend, Col, why the fuck.. what is wrong with you?" Julia shook her head at Collette in disappointment. 

Dylan finally stepped in. "Okay, well, we are dating, for one." He smiled across the table at you, and you tried to keep straight faced.

You were suddenly terrified of pissing Julia off. In that moment, you realized that when all of this had started in the second week of June, when you first met and hung out with Dylan, you did not think that it would have developed into something even remotely serious. You also realized that you hadn't told any of your friends yet, so you were going to have to call Sarah as soon as she left there so that she didn't hear it from any one else. You listened as, for the first time, Dylan regaled your story from his point of view. 

"So you introduced us at Boardy Barn and I thought she was stunning, straight off the bat." You had never known that he thought that, and suddenly, you were fighting with everything you had not to break out into the most massive grin. Dylan smiled warmly at you. All he wanted was to hold your hand and to not be telling you all of these things for the first time in front of his sister and his sister's most obnoxious friend. "Then we went to the party at her house after Boardy, and I don't know if you realized, but the two of us hung out and talked most of that night."

"I was so drunk, I barely remember that night. I do remember hooking up with your friend, Felisha, though. She was super hot." Julia looked at you with a smile, and you snickered, and began to relax. She wasn't glaring at you or, even worse, not making eye contact with you at all. You decided to pipe up and help Dylan out with the story. 

"The next morning, Dylan and I were the only ones awake.."

"I remember this, I think, you guys were out with your dog or something, right? I remember you coming through the front door together." Julia interjected, and you nodded. 

"Yea, he walked Trixie with me, we sat on the beach and played with her for a little, and just talked and got to know each other more. He expressed at some point that morning, how bored he was and how he didn't know what to do during the week while you were here working, and so I gave him my number and told him to text me and I would show him what there was to do... Honestly, at that point, it was pretty innocent, I mean, I thought he was cute and sweet, but I wasn't trying to hit on your brother."

"You weren't?" Dylan faked a pout, and you widened your eyes at him, a slight smirk on your face regardless of your look telling him to shut up. Dylan laughed, and took the story back. "So fast forward a few days, I never texted her, cause I'm a nervous idiot, and I'm walking down Main Street in East Hampton, and it was this whole thing where Trixie got loose and Y/n hit her head on the sidewalk, and I was sort of the cause of all of it-"

"Kind of sounds like the plot to a romantic comedy." Collette interjected, sipping her way through her margarita. 

Dylan chuckled. "It kind of was... But, I took Y/n home and she had this massive welt on the back of her head, and I sort of used that as an excuse to hang out with her longer." Dylan paused and let the waiter deliver their entrees to the table, then continued. "We ended up spending the entire day together, watched all of the first season of Game Of Thrones, had dinner, talked... and uh, yea, I definitely had a crush on her at that point." He smirked in between bites of his chicken burrito. 

"Basically, I definitely liked him at that point too, and I invited him to go paddle boarding with me the next day, and he actually showed up, and we had fun and we had lunch an-"

Dylan leaned his elbows against the edge of the table and swirled the liquid around in his beer bottle, as he tilted his head and smiled at you. "And I invited her to your party.." Dylan interjected, before being cut off by his sister. 

"Before I did?" Dylan laughed and nodded. "Wow, way to make me look like an ass, Dylhole." Julia playfully shoved her brother, who laughed. 

"I'm not sorry, I wanted her to come and I wanted her to hang out with me." Dylan smirked. 

"That's where you were when Sarah got roofied then?" Julia asked, suddenly very wrapped up in the pieces of these stories that she didn't even know were missing until just then. 

You nodded, with a slight frown creeping onto your face; you still felt guilty about what had happened that night and how you hadn't been there to keep an eye out for your best friend. You cleared your throat, and rubbed your hand against your jaw, not realizing the habits that you had begun to pick up from Dylan. "Yea, we were upstairs, in his room, like talking."

"Oh yea, 'talking'." Collette smirked and made air quotes with her fingers when she repeated the word. 

Dylan rolled his eyes and stepped in for you. "Then Y/n went to Kansas for the Fourth of July to see her mom, and we talked the entire time she was gone.."

"You hate texting though." Julia furrowed her brow at her brother, unable to hide her surprise. 

Dylan snickered and brought his beer bottle up to his lips. "I know." He sipped quickly. "We didn't text much. I called her and we talked on the phone every night she was gone for like a few hours each time. That was when I really started to like her. Talking to Y/n was just effortless.." He smiled a lopsided grin at you, and you melted, covering your mouth with your glass and hand to hide your blush. "Then when she came back, I picked her up at JFK, and we saw Spider-Man, and had dinner, and just ended up hanging out the rest of the night. We watched Game of Thrones a...." Dylan trailed off. He realized that he was about to admit that that was the first night that they had slept together, and regardless of how innocent it was, he wanted to keep that night and the following morning private, because it was that next morning and afternoon, that he realized that he could be happy if what was going on between you and him turned into something more serious. You watched as he sat in contemplative silence for a few long moments and you finally intervened. 

"Then we just went on a ton of dates and hung out a lot. We went kayaking, surfing, hiking, to a winery... Dylan took me out to dinner a bunch of times. Um, oh, we went to a Mets game and then I took him to The Met... What else?" You asked Dylan, glancing up at him taking a bite of his burrito. 

"Tthoones and dinnr." Dylan said with his mouth full and you laughed, completely understanding what he was trying to remind you of. 

"Right.. He cooked me dinner once, it was pretty good actually, and we've watched about five seasons of Game of Thrones.. Oh and we saw a play on Broadway. I don't know, we've basically spent almost every day together since the week we met."

"Except for the weekends because I haven't seen the two of you together since the party." Julia glanced back and forth between you and Dylan. 

Dylan shrugged and finished chewing his last bite. "We weren't ready to tell people until now. I only told Ty about it like two weeks ago." 

"Well, besides the fact that I am deeply offended that you told Tyler TWO WEEKS before you told me, and this is all pretty weird considering you are my friend and you are my brother, I kind of get it. I don't know why I didn't guess that it was Y/n that you were dating. I knew you were dating someone, I just assumed you had gotten back together with Britt." Julia paused after she said Britt's name. 

"Definitely not that. Are you okay with this though, Jules?" Dylan asked, furrowing his brow and staring at his sister. 

"Would it matter even if I wasn't?" 

"Julia, we woul-" You started to speak out of panic before Julia cut you off. 

"That wasn't me saying I wasn't okay with it, I just, you guys sound like you're in pretty deep at this point, and I don't want to get in the way of that. Plus, you two have been sitting here grinning like idiots at each other. It's adorable and vomit inducing and reminding me that I need to re-download Grindr." Julia chuckled at her own joke. "I'm cool with it, just like, don't let me walk in on anything weird, okay?"

"I promise, that will definitely not happen." You stuck your hand up in the air like you were taking an oath. 

* * *

 

Dylan unzipped the side of your flouncy, white and purple and yellow floral printed summer dress. He paused to pull his shirt off over his head, and tossed it on the floor by the window. He smiled warmly and reassuringly at you, and watched as you brought your hands flat up against his torso, and traced the natural lines of his body with your fingers. The crease in his forehead became prominent as he reached over and pushed a large section of your hair over your right shoulder and onto your back with the back of his fingers. He then hooked his long digits under the thick strap holding up your dress and pulled it off the top of your shoulder. He paused when he felt your hands drop from his chest to the button and fly of his dark gray trousers. You left them open, no longer snug against his hips and waist, and you ran your fingers gently along the cuts on his hips, under the waistband of his boxer briefs, and towards the muscles of his lower back and ass.

His breathing became heavier and he brought his hand up to the other strap and pulled it off your shoulder to rest against the side of your arm. He looked perplexed when the dress did not drop to the floor like he assumed that it would. You smiled and suddenly brought your hands up to unclasp the small metal hook that was keep the dress up still. As soon as you did, the dress slid right off of your arms and body and pooled at your feet on the floor. You were left standing in front of Dylan in nothing but a pair of white, lacy underwear. He visibly gulped and you heard his breath stagger. Your heart beat fast, and you became incredibly nervous. This was it. You were finally going there, and you had wanted him, but it didn't make you any less terrified to be vulnerable to him in this new way. 

Dylan shook his head and furrowed his brow, then dropped his hand down to interlace his fingers with yours. "You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." He whispered, and you suddenly felt more at ease.

You tugged at his hand, and began walking backwards to the side of the bed, leading him to the edge. You let go and crawled backwards, towards the middle, watching him watch you. He glanced down and pulled his pants down his legs and left them in a ball on the floor with his socks. Now, he stood in front of you, vulnerable and almost naked, in nothing more than his boxer briefs. He was, undoubtedly, the most gorgeous man you had ever actually seen in person, and you were finding it very hard to breathe normally.

Dylan crawled onto the bed, only pausing once he was finally hovering over you. He smiled softly and spoke again. "Maybe it's the actor in me, but part of me really just wishes this could be filmed." You tilted your head back and quirked your eyebrows up in utter disbelief, and Dylan began laughing, burying his face in the taut, tucked in sheets next to your head. "Not like that.." He calmed down his laughter, and was only left with a genuine smile on his face. He brought his right hand up to your cheek, and gently caressed your soft skin. "I just meant that I wish I could capture this moment in a more tangible way because I have a feeling that this is going to be one of those times that I am never going to want to forget." 

You tilted your head to the left and kissed the palm of his hand, which caused him to let out a soft sigh. "I think if we go slow and just savor it, we won't forget." You told him. 

"Are you nervous?" He asked, still hovering over you, still stroking your cheek lightly. 

You nodded slowly, never breaking eye contact with you. "Are you?" 

Dylan's mouth twitched up at the corner and he nodded in response. "We'll go slow. It'll be okay." 

He waited until you nodded and smiled before he connected his lips with yours. This kiss was different. A lot had changed that day for the both of you. It was the longest you had been apart since all this had started between the two of you, so the reunion was automatically that much sweeter. You had accidentally, on both fronts, finally introduced yourself as a couple to your respective sisters. Most of all, however, you had finally made a commitment to each other. Albeit, a loose one that required a lot of further discussion, but it was a commitment nonetheless. You were developing serious and deep feelings for each other and that shone through every time your lips connected with each other. 

Dylan made the plunge. He pulled gently at the sides of your underwear, and you felt the lace slide down your silky legs and finally over your pointed feet. You watched as he stood at the side of the bed once more, hooked his fingers around the elastic on his boxer briefs and tugged them down his hairy legs to the floor. He rolled his lips back into his mouth and wet them with his tongue as he stared at you, watching him in his most bare and exposed state. 

"Condom?" You asked with a small smile, biting your bottom lip as you took in his impressive length and his even more impressive girth. 

"Shit, right."

Dylan's eyes widened and he spun around in place, looking for his pants. He squatted next to the bed and grabbed his wallet, then pulled a condom out and placed it on the night stand next to the bed. After your close call the other night, that was only staved off because of a drunken case of the hiccups, you and Dylan had a serious conversation the next morning. It was one that he had never had with a girl before, and it made him happy to be in an adult relationship. You had discussed that, regardless of the fact that you were on birth control, you were still going to have sex with condoms until there was a little more time under your belts. The real reason that you were both dancing around was the fact that you had not had a conversation about being exclusive, and regardless of your "guy I'm dating" conversation earlier that evening, you still had not actually had a conversation about your exclusivity, so you were sticking with the condoms. Dylan agreed quickly and you both discussed when you had last been tested, and when you found out you were both clean, you moved on to a new conversation. You were relieved that you had gotten all of that out of the way before the moment you were currently in, both naked and ready to finally take the next step in your relationship. 

Dylan pulled the corner of the sheets down over your legs, and glanced up at you. "Come on." He beckoned you to get under the covers with him. You did as he suggested, and very quickly, you were both on your sides, face-to-face, with your bodies pressed up against each other. Your neck fit perfectly over Dylan's right bicep, and he gently stroked your hair with the tips of his right fingers as he kissed your lips. The arm that was pressed in between the two of you was holding his chin in place, lightly massaging the stubble on his face. Your other hand was pressed up against his sternum, feeling the taut skin of his body against the pads of your fingers. Dylan positioned his left hand against the small of your back, and the two of you had your legs intertwined with each other. 

He did as he promised and went slow, but soon the tension and heat between the two of you became even too much for you to bare. Your hand moved down to his shaft and you began gently stroking him, he exhaled into your mouth at your touch and it gave you the confidence to become a bit firmer with your grip. His hand grazed over your ass and grabbed a fistful, pulling you closer to him. Under the tangled sheets were tangled body parts and intensely passionate kisses and Dylan had reached his limit. He leaned his body backwards and reached for the wrapper on the table. You pressed your lips against his throat, unable to stop yourself, and Dylan paused in his stretch, enjoying the sensation of your soft and wet lips against his neck. He closed his eyes and sighed as you worked your way down to his chest. 

Dylan, snapping out of his momentary trance, gently nudged you on to your back. He placed the unopened wrapped on the pillow next to you, and positioned himself over you. He relished in the feeling of your hands on his ribs and shoulder, and how thoughtfully your fingers ran across his skin, setting it ablaze with your touch. He cupped his hand behind your neck, leaning down to connect your lips once again. He tilted his head to the side to gain greater access and prolong the embrace. The warmth and wetness of his lips sent shivers down your body, that you never wanted to stop. You felt his hand wandering down from your neck, over your collarbone and suddenly stopping just about your breast. Dylan broke from the kiss and hovered over you again, trading his glances from his hand to your eyes. 

"Your heart is racing." He whispered, his eyebrows stitching together in concern.

You ran your thumb gently over the soft pink skin on his lips, and you nodded with a subtle smile. "I know." 

Dylan's hand remained pressed firmly against your chest, and he shut his eyes as he enjoyed your gentle touch. "Do you... are you nervous still? Should we stop?" You felt him whisper against your finger. 

You brought your hand up to run your fingers into his thick chocolate mane, and then you rested your palm against his prominent cheekbone. "No." You whispered back and he opened his eyes. "I'm not nervous. I'm excited... and I want you." 

Dylan smiled, grabbed your hand off of his face and pressed over his heart, against his chest. "Well that made my heart race too." His smile gave off the warmth of a thousand suns and you basked in it. Dylan leaned down and pressed his perfect pink lips against your cheek firmly. You felt the whiskers on his upper lip tickle your skin as he spoke in a hushed tone. "I want you too." 

You ran your fingers up through the hair on the back of his head, feeling the soft strands push against your fingers as you went. You held him in place against your body and whispered something in reply that had never been truer than it was until that moment. "Then I'm yours." 

You heard Dylan exhale loudly through his nostrils and felt the warm air against your shoulder. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck and stayed there for a few moments, replaying those coveted words in his head over and over and over. Finally, Dylan raised his head and looked at you with a steady and serious look on his face. "I want this." You barely saw his hand gesture between the two of you out of the corner of your eye before you replied. You didn't need to see his gesture. You were on the same wavelength and you understood exactly what he meant. 

"I do too."

Dylan swept his head in and connected his lips to yours. Your tongues danced around each other with blissful purpose, as your hands pawed at each other in their search for more skin. You patted your right hand around on the pillow next to you, searching for the condom, unable to take the tension any longer. Your fingers found the foil wrapping and only when Dylan heard the crinkle did he breathlessly break from your intense embrace. He watched as you carefully ripped at the packaging and pulled the rubber protection out. You shimmied down slightly, pinched the tip, and began rolling it down his shaft. He softly moaned at the sight and the feeling of you touching his cock. Your hand remained, and you gently lowered him in line with your opening. You slid him back and forth, wetting the tip thoroughly with your arousal. He was big and you were going to need all the help you could get. 

He slid in and you tilted your head back in lustful ecstasy. Dylan leaned down and sucked lightly on your exposed neck, his hands pushing indents into the mattress around your head to steady himself as he thrust in and out of you. Your bodies moved in a way that only people who share a truly deep connection experience, ebbing and flowing with each other's movements. Dylan drank in your sighs and moans and whimpers. He relished in the way that your warm skin felt against his, the way you had wrapped your ankle around his, the way your nails gently dug into his taut flesh, and the way that your breath felt against his neck as he leaned down and buried his forehead in the pillow under your head. Quiet curses and subtle moans left his lips as he thrust in and out of you. 

You watched as Dylan's nose and cheeks twitched and his forehead wrinkled. He pressed his tongue in between his lips and squeezed and furrowed his brows down, his eyelids closed tightly. You pulled one of his hands off of the mattress and brought it down your body. You placed his fingers against your clit and watched as the expression on his face completely changed. He grew smug. 

"Come here." He whispered, as he dropped to his side, next to you, and turned you onto your side. 

Dylan pulled your naked body against his, your back pressed against the sticky skin of his chest. He ran the backs of his fingers, underneath the blankets covering your bodies, up your thigh, across your hip bone, up your ribs, over your shoulder and pulled the hair covering your neck, against your back. He peppered your sensitive skin with a flurry of soft and lingering kisses, and you found his free hand with yours under the pillows. You intertwined your fingers, as you felt his other hand pull your thigh on top of his. From behind you, Dylan connected with your pussy again and slid back inside of you. You moaned loudly at the reunion, tilting your head back involuntarily and feeling your skull press at Dylan's upturned nose. 

He wrapped his long and sinewy hand around your body and pressed his fingers against your engorged nub. He rubbed and thrust simultaneously, feeling your body clench at his touch. You gripped at his hand under the pillow and squeezed your bony fingers against his, feeling the circulation cutting off and not minding. You were close and you needed to brace yourself for what was inevitably coming. Dylan squeezed back. He was struggling keep from finishing before you. He had never wanted to finish with someone as badly as he wanted to finish with you. He did the only thing he knew might get you to where he was and he sped up the movements of his fingers, pressing firmer against your clit. As his brain thought 'faster' for his hand, it thought 'faster' for his thrusts too, and he picked up his pace without realizing. 

"Oh god..." You exhaled quickly, and Dylan heard you stop breathing.

He felt the first twitch and the first clench, and he let go. As each new wave of your orgasm rolled over your body and you spasmed against him, Dylan felt his release coming quickly. You settled, small twitches still involuntarily taking hold of you, and reached back to grip at his hair, as his thrusts became deeper, sloppier and harder. Dylan reached up and pulled your hand out of his hair and pushed it against the mattress in front of you, interlacing his fingers with yours and squeezing as he buried his face into your cheek. A loud moan escaped his lips and you leaned into his embrace. 

Sudden stillness fell upon the room. You heard a helicopter moving through the nightsky above the Hudson River and the soft pants of Dylan above your ear. He pulled your hands under your chin and squeezed you tightly against him.  

 


	10. United Artists East Hampton Cinema 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days after returning from Los Angeles, Dylan wants three things: to take you to see Dunkirk, like he promised, to talk to you about what is happening in your relationship, and to tell you about what happened between him and Britt. Sometimes you don't get everything you want though.

_“Last night was amazing… I mean, it, Y/n, I don’t think…” Dylan paused his words and his gentle stroking of your hair, and closed his eyes. “Fuck, I literally can’t even think straight when you look at me like that.”_

_“I’m just looking at you.” You grinned and continued running your fingers along the smooth skin of his chest._

_“It’s the eyes. It’s the fucking eyes… I just can’t even think straight.” Dylan laid on his side, his left arm resting under your neck, and his body slightly tilted over yours; the proximity to his still naked body was intoxicating. “Last night was amazing.” He repeated in a whisper. You smiled up at him sleepily, your lips pressed together and your cheekbones poking out from under your dewy skin. “Oh god, the smile too.” Dylan fell onto his back and covered his eyes with the back of his right wrist, and you followed, pressing your bare chest against his._

_You leaned up and left small kisses on his jawline and lower cheek. “You’re the cutest man ever.” You spoke softly, and he smiled and gripped the back of your head with his hand. It had been a long time since he had experienced it, but Dylan was quite certain that these were the beginning stages of falling for someone. Falling for you. He was completely content, until he remembered that you still had to have a serious conversation until you were completely his._

_He straightened out some, causing your eyebrows to twitch up in wonder, and he stared down at you, drawing small circles in the peach fuzz on your arm, resting on his chest. “Where’s your head at?” He asked, unsure of how to start this conversation again._

_“Do you want to know where my head is at or where my heart is at?” You asked, lightly rubbing at the stubble on the underside of his chin._

_The corner of Dylan’s mouth twitched up into a lopsided smile. You were always somehow in his head. “Both.”_

_You dropped your cheek to rest on his pectoral muscle and you listened to his heart beating. You stared out the floor to ceiling window of your room in The Standard Hotel and watched as birds flew by over the Hudson River. You contemplated whether or not to tell him the truth, but decided to do it anyway. “My head and my heart are completely in sync in their knowledge that I have strong feelings for you and after last night, those feelings are definitely deepening.”_

_Dylan wondered if you heard his heart skip a beat. A full beat._

_This was it, you reciprocated his feelings completely and this was definitely the beginning stages of falling for another person._

_He snickered. “I love the way you speak.”_

_“What do you mean?” You glanced up at him and knitted your eyebrows together in amused confusion._

_“I never would’ve thought to put it that way, or would’ve said it that eloquently,” He snickered again, and stroked his thumb against your cheek. “but my feelings for you are absolutely deepening as well.”_

_You smiled, turned your head and kissed the palm of his hand, then nuzzled your cheek back against it. “Good.”_

_“Y/n..” You hummed questioningly. “I want more.”_

_You slid your body on top of his and pressed your face against his chest hair. “Want more what?”_

_“Of this..”_

_“Oh trust me, Dyl, now that we’ve done this once, we will do this every day.. Twice a day… Three times a day… Do you think you could do it three times a day? I bet you could..” You rambled and grinned, and felt your body shake as Dylan laughed underneath you._

_“No, you horny little nutcase.” You pressed your teeth against Dylan’s pec and lightly bit him in retaliation for his name calling. “Ow… Oh, you are going to pay.” Dylan grabbed at your wrists and turned you over onto the bed. He hovered over you and pinned you against the mattress. “Just to be clear, we will, at the very least, try to do it three times in one day.” He pointed at you sternly, his other fingers still wrapped around your wrist. Dylan dismounted from you and plopped back on his side next to you, returning to your original position. He paused for a few moments, waiting for you to return to your snuggly position. “I want more of you. I want more of this.” He pointed between the two of you. “I want this to be heading towards something, and I want to figure out how we are going to make that happen.”_

_You frowned slightly. You knew you had to have this conversation, but it was a conversation that concerned you. You had done long-distance before, and you weren’t entirely sure that you could commit to moving to Los Angeles, if that was ever something he asked of you. You were having such a genuinely blissed out morning, that you didn’t even want to think about it being ruined by the inevitable hardships that would come with having this particular conversation._

_“I really want the same things as you, I do, but honestly, do we have to talk about it right now? I’m in such a good mood and I’m hungry and I’m, apparently, a horny little nutcase,” You smirked and paused, glancing up at him moodily from under your eyelashes. “and I just want to relish in this morning with you. We can even talk about it tonight, if you want. I just-”_

_Dylan understood where you were coming from, and while he was frustrated that you were unwilling to flesh it all out right then, he was at least comforted by the fact that you were wanting more as well. Dylan sighed and leaned down to kiss you gently on the lips. “We can talk about it later. Over dinner tonight, maybe?” You nodded and pecked him back on the lips, bringing a smile back to his face. “You want to order room service?”_

_Your eyes grew wide and you nodded. “So much.”_

_Dylan laughed and grabbed the menu from the nightstand._

* * *

* * *

“If you didn’t like that movie as much as me,  _that’s fine_ , but you’re gonna have to fucking keep those feelings to yourself, because  **I. Loved. Every. Single. Thing**. about that movie.” You punctuated every word and pulled Dylan’s hand back, stopping him in his tracks, as you paused in the parking lot of the movie theater. Dylan snickered, and pulled you to keep walking towards him and towards the car.

You caught up and he wrapped his left arm around your shoulders. He loved how naturally you fit against his side and how good it felt to have one of your hands gripping the front of his shirt, while the other lazily interlaced its fingers with his over your shoulder. “I really, really liked the movie, I don’t know why you think I didn’t.” Dylan laughed, before pressing a kiss against the side of your head.

This was becoming his happy place: arguing about movies and tv shows with you, whether or not he had differing opinions from yours. He realized that he had become a bit jaded with the industry and with the sorts of films that were being put out, the longer he worked in Hollywood, but your vision of cinema was still fresh and romantic and dewy-eyed. It always made him remember what he loved about the industry in the first place.

“It was just like,  _ugh_ , I don’t know. I know you said you liked it, but you know when you love something  _so much_ , and you take someone with you to experience it, and you know that you’re gonna love it, but you worry that the other person may not, so you just have to make it clear that you will be  _devastated_  if they shit on it in front of you?”

Dylan laughed, as he unlocked Julia’s car from his keychain, walking around to the passenger side with you to open the door. “That’s how you feel? You think I’m going to shit on  _Dunkirk_?”

You laughed and blushed, and waited for him to jog around to climb into the driver’s side of the car before continuing. He waited a few moments before starting the car, still enjoying simply listening to you ramble on and on. 

“I just love Christopher Nolan, and  _Dunkirk_  did not disappoint at all.” You stared at him with a goofy grin from a minute, before you leaned back against the headrest and shut your eyes. “The cinematography,  _oh my god_. Like, that last scene, where Tom Hardy gets out of the plane at sunset and that lens flare?  _Jesus fucking christ_.” Dylan went to agree with you, before you cut him off and rambled on about something else you had read about the making of the film. “And  _oh my god_ , so like, I read that Chris Nolan literally went out in one of the real small vessels from the original rescue during World War II, and he sailed the English Channel during that time of year, so that when he wrote the script, he would know what it was actually like to make that journey from England to France and back; and he said that even without being shot at by German planes, it was one of the most perilous things he had ever experienced. Like how fucking cool is that?”

“How much would you die if I ever worked with him?” Dylan grinned from ear to ear and rubbed his sinewy hands against your knee.

You simply gaped at him for a minute before leaning forward and speaking emphatically. “I would not survive. I would  ** _LITERALLY_** die.”

Dylan clicked his tongue against his teeth, his eyes widened and the most impish look took over his face. “ _Welp_ , I guess I can’t work with him then. Can’t have you dying on me.”

“ _No_!” You whined, as Dylan snickered and started the car. “ _Ugh_. You’re the worst.”

“You still like me though, right?” He glanced over, as he backed out of the space and pulled out onto the road, to head back to Montauk.

You barely bit your lip and grinned at him, shaking your head and feeling butterflies in your chest.  _You liked him so god damn much_. “I guess… Even though you’re the worst.”

Dylan laughed, and snaked his hand back onto your thigh, finding your hands and slipping his in between. He loved being physically connected to you. “You know who was the best though?”

“ _George_?” You guessed, even though you were pretty sure you knew who he really wanted you to say.

“Holy shit, the kid that played George was fantastic. That scene when he was saying that he couldn’t see-”

“I cried.”

“I saw. I kind of did too.” Dylan admitted with a smile, glancing back and forth between you and the dark road.

“You wanted me to say Harry Styles, didn’t you?”

The biggest shit eating grin developed across Dylan’s face, and you burst out laughing. “My god, you just get me.”

You could barely stop laughing enough to get out how you knew. “Well, I mean, I have never met anyone who knows and sings every word to ’ _[Perfect](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DHo32Oh6b4jc&t=MDk0MTNmNjkzYTk5ZTdmMGM0YTBkMTEyNTBmMjdkZTg3ZGMwOWQyYixLT3dobzk3dg%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F168243037219%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-10-dylan-obrien&m=1)_ ’ by One Direction as  _emphatically_  as you.”

“ **THAT IS THE BEST SONG!** ” Dylan yelled, banging his left hand against the steering wheel, as you continued laughing, doubling over in your seat, but still gripping his right hand. He exaggerated the way that he turned his head to look at you, and he smirked. “If I give you my phone, can you play that song for me?” You snickered, and nodded. He spent the rest of the ride home belting out One Direction songs and talking about how great Harry Styles was.

* * *

“I still can’t get over that movie. The writing was brilliant; like, who thinks to split up a movie like that? And all of the repeating scenes from different perspectives. I feel like that is a movie that requires multiple viewings just to catch the bits that I missed the first time.”

Dylan grinned, rested his head on the back of the couch, and swirled his beer around in front of him, staring at you while you continued to rant and rave about the movie you had just seen. He took a swig of his drink and appeared to be lost in his thoughts for a moment, until he caught you staring at him, no longer carrying on about  _Dunkirk_. 

“You know what I realized tonight that is one of my new favorite things in the whole world?”

You licked at the smile on your mouth and leaned your head, across from his, on the cushions. “What’s that?”

“I feel like I have to see the movie again, too, but mostly because I spent tonight just watching  _you_  watch the movie. You were so excited and so into it and it was  _so fucking cute_ , and I think my new favorite thing is just watching you watch things you like.”

You rolled your eyes up to the ceiling and shook your head, trying to trap your grin by biting your lips between your teeth. “How are you so fucking cute? I don’t even get it. You were watching  _me_?”

“You didn’t notice?” Dylan began laughing. “Here, I thought I was not being subtle at all.”

You had nothing to say. You were simply the most smitten human to ever exist during any time in history; you were sure of it. You pulled Dylan’s beer bottle out of his hand and set it down on the coffee table next to yours, then you swung your leg over his lap and perched yourself on top of him. He smiled and watched you closely, as his long and muscular hands made their way up your thighs. You couldn’t stop grinning, even as you leaned in slowly to kiss him, your hands felt the bones in his cheeks protruding under his skin because he was smiling too. 

_This was bliss._

Dylan pulled on your lower lip with his teeth and you sighed a little. “ _What_?” He asked, as he pulled away, pushing strands of hair behind your ear, and staring up into your y/e/c eyes.

You leaned in to kiss him softly again, before you answered in a whisper. “I just like you so much.”

Dylan huffed happily and couldn’t hold back his smile. In one quick swoop, Dylan swung you around, landing you on your back on the couch, with him positioning himself on top of you. He kissed you on your nose, eyes, forehead, cheeks, lips, neck, all while repeating how he liked you so much too. 

Once he got to your neck, however, he found that quick pecks and your beautiful laughter weren’t enough. Maybe it was the heat from your body, maybe it was the sight of you underneath him, or maybe it was the subtle smell of your vanilla perfume, but Dylan, once again, found himself craving more of you. The kisses he left on your throat became longer, wetter and harder, and his hands quickly found their way under the hem of your shirt.

The way that his lips felt against your skin drove you to near madness. It made you insatiable for him and  _only him_. You laid underneath him, quietly sighing every time his tongue swept across your collarbones. You were relieved when his fingers made quick work of pulling your plain black tank top off, and you tugged at his shirt as well.

You loved watching this particular man take his clothes off, especially any sort of shirt he had to pull off over his head. You watched as he grabbed at the fabric around the neck hole and pulled up, his perfect face and hair disappearing into the body of the muted seafoam-green t-shirt he was wearing. His biceps and forearms bulged and flexed, as he struggled to quickly rid himself of the clothing on his upper half. You stared down at every new inch of his abdomen and happy trail that was becoming exposed to you. 

It was like he was moving in slow motion and you drank in every last damn second if it. You couldn’t help but let a soft groan escape from your throat when the t-shirt was being tossed behind you, onto the floor and suddenly, Dylan was half naked in front of you again. It was a reaction to the muscles in his shoulders, the hair on his chest, and the way that his cheeks were flushed pink with heat and arousal. He turned you on in ways that were unquantifiable.

Dylan’s lips were quickly attached to your hot skin again, and you were writhing underneath him. Your hands couldn’t find a place to linger for too long, always wanting more of his flesh against your flesh. His tongue dragged up from your belly button to the wiring in your bra and the two of you just knew that this wasn’t going to work. You sat forward and pulled your hands to your back, at the same time that his hands tried to reach back to unclasp your bra, as well. Too many fingers made for slow work.

“I got this, babe.” You laughed, finally unhooking the clasps.

Dylan snickered, and rubbed his hand against his smirk. “I got excited. Sorry.”

“ _C'mere_.” You whispered, tossing your bra behind you, onto the floor, and leaning back against the couch.

Dylan groaned quietly, and reattached his swollen pink lips to your neck. It wasn’t long before they were sucking on your nipples, his tongue and teeth teasing you endlessly. Your fingers tugged and yanked at his hair, and your legs writhed underneath him. Your body knew exactly what it wanted from his, and you ground your pelvis up against his, as your hands dug their way under the back of his black jeans and grabbed at his perfect, muscular ass.

Dylan, like most men, wasn’t terribly vocal when it came to sexual encounters, but the feeling of your hips, still covered in your high waisted jeans, grinding up against his throbbing, jean covered, erection, ripped a groan out of his mouth louder than he had ever heard from himself. You trembled slightly at the sound. It was like his moan went from your ears, straight down your body, melting you into the cushions below you, and landed in between your legs. 

You rubbed against him with greater fervor, wanting some kind of contact, and he ground down onto you, as his lips found yours again. You just knew that you were mere moments away from him tearing the last remaining articles of clothing off of the both of you, and burying himself inside of you. The buildup was monumental and you knew that the pay off would be even better.

“ ** _HEY DYLHOLE, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?_** ” A familiar voice rung through the quiet house, and suddenly, out of instinct, Dylan dropped his body on top of yours to cover you. “Oh. my. god…  _Seriously_? You were too busy having sex on the couch to come get us at the train station?”

“What are you talking about?  _ **What are you doing here**_?!” Dylan yelled at his older sister, his face growing beet red for an entirely different reason, as three of the other roommates filed in the door after Julia.

“It’s Friday,  _idiot_. You were supposed to pick us up from the train station but you never shows up and we had to take a cab.”

“It’s Friday?” Dylan questioned confusedly. He looked down at you, your face completely red with humiliation, and he quirked an eyebrow up. “I thought it was Thursday…  _Did you know it was Friday_?”

“ _No_..” You whispered, before tilting your head back to look at Julia and your friends from college, all while still holding Dylan’s body against yours to cover yourself. “Julia, Collette, guys, I’m so sorry. We didn’t realize what day it was…”

“It’s fine.” Julia huffed, understanding the mix up.

“I’ll pay you back for the cab, Jules. I promise. I’m sorry.” Dylan sounded meek and repentant, and Julia simply waved him off and followed her roommates upstairs to their respective bedrooms. Dylan glanced back down at you, once the two of you were alone again. “ _Oh my god_ … I am so fucking sorry.” Dylan apologized to you, before burying his head into the pillow under your head with a frustrated groan.

“It’s not your fault. It was just bad luck.. and neither of us bothering to check what day it was, apparently.” You replied, rubbing your soft hands against the back of his neck.

Dylan popped his head up to check if the two of you were  _really_ alone. “I’m gonna have the bluest balls ever now. Jesus fucking christ.” He grumbled, eliciting a soft laugh from you, before he climbed off to retrieve your clothing.

* * *

Dylan held you in his arms, stroking the sweaty skin of your back and smiling like he’d never been happier than he was in that moment. You softly cooed over his touch and opened your eyes again. He was a dream to wake up next to. You considered pinching yourself to make sure that you weren’t dreaming, but you knew that he would mock you for being so cheesy and you just didn’t want to be teased for the rest of the day.

But it didn’t change the fact that he was  _beautiful_. There was no way around that… His eyebrows were bushy and pointed up, from how he slept against his pillow, and his hair was matted against his forehead, from the sweat of rolling around in the sheets with you, but those things were endearing and wonderful and made him that much more gorgeous. He was gentle and sweet and completely engaged in the moment with you, and you really could not get over how much you ended up liking him more and more every time he stared at you the way he was that morning in his bed.

You pushed your fingers into the muscles of his shoulder and down his chest, leaving your hand to rest on his torso. You just liked feeling him against your fingertips; knowing he was not a figment of your imagination. 

“What are you thinking about?” You whispered with a drowsy smile, staring up into his kind and sleepy, honey brown eyes.

Dylan adjusted his head against his pillow to get just that much better of a view of you. He sighed and curled his lips up softly at the corners; always happy to just talk to you. “I was thinking that I have been with three other girls before you and yet, I don’t think I ever thought that any of this could be as incredible as it has been with you this past month or so.”

You were happily overwhelmed and bashful over his words, so you dropped your gaze and buried your face into his shoulder. “You are so cute. Oh my god.” You hid yourself further into his arm.

Dylan snickered and pressed a couple of long and gentle kisses into your hairline, before simply resting his mouth against your forehead. “ _So genuinely happy_ , Y/n. I swear.” He whispered, before closing his eyes and sighing contentedly.

You exhaled heavily and rolled your head up, hooking your fingers into the ends of the hair above the back of Dylan’s neck. "You are  _so_..“ You sighed again and smiled up at him. "I can’t with you and your fucking perfection.” You pretended to complain before he laughed and pressed a kiss against your lips. When he broke away, you caught his stare and simply smiled; the picture of genuine happiness. You wet your lips and whispered softly. “Do you want to have that conversation?”

Dylan perked up slightly and pulled back a bit to get a better look at you. He looked excited. “Yes!” He exclaimed. “I really want  _to_ -” Dylan paused when he heard your phone vibrate, for what was probably the ninth time, against the nightstand. You hadn’t answered when you were in the heat of the moment, when you had woken up, but it had rung two more times since and he was having a hard time ignoring it. He sighed, still happy, and tucked the hair on your neck, behind your shoulder. “Check that first. Just to make sure it isn’t important.”

“I don’t have to.”

Dylan shrugged, still smiling and stroking his fingers back and forth over the side of your jaw. “It’s okay. Just check.”

You pretended to huff in frustration with him, but it was completely unconvincing, since a smile was a permanent fixture on your lips at this point. You turned over, grabbed at your phone, and unlocked it. “ _What the hell_ …” Your face dropped a little, as your thumb scrolled up the lock screen of your iPhone.

“Everything okay?”

You punched in your passcode and began listening to the first of seven voicemails that had been left on your phone since you went to sleep the night before. “I don’t know.” You pressed the phone to your ear and Dylan could just make out the mumblings of a low, older man’s voice on the other end. “ _Oh my god_.”

“What’s wrong?” Dylan sat up slightly, his stomach doing backflips over your sudden change in demeanor.

You didn’t answer right away, instead you clicked on the last voicemail that was just left. You covered your gaping mouth with your hand, running it back and forth over the rest of your face, as you listened to the person speaking on the other end of the line. 

“ _Oh my god._ ” You finally pulled your phone away from your deeply red face, and paused, for no more than twenty seconds, before you grew frantic. “I have to go. I have to-  _ **Oh my god**_.” You hurled yourself out of Dylan’s bed and began searching for your bag of clean clothes.

“What happened? What’s going on?” Dylan copied your movements and jumped out of bed himself, rushing to his dresser to grab a clean pair of boxer briefs.

“My grandma passed out again, outside of a restaurant with friends, last night and she hit her head and she’s in the hospital.”

He stopped moving. “Oh my god, Y/n, I’m so sorry.” Dylan’s heart sunk, as he watched you frantically flit about his room.

“I have to go. I have to get to the hospital.” Your brain was suddenly going a million miles a minute. “I have to- _I have to find_ …  ** _WHERE ARE MY PANTS?!_** ” You shouted in frustration, swinging your body left and right, scanning the room in a frenzy.

Dylan rushed towards the other side of the bed and grabbed your jeans off of the floor. He placed them on the side of the bed and approached you, grabbing the sides of your arms and stilling you. “Hey, hey…  _look at me_ … is she okay? What can I do?”

Your gaze darted all over the place, before it settled on his face and your breathing calmed slightly. “Yea, I mean, I guess. My Dad said that they were running tests, but she spent all night in the emergency room and only got admitted…  _Dyl_ , I have to get to the hospital.  _I have the book_.” You began searching the bedroom again, a deeply panicked look taking over your face once more.

“What book?” He wouldn’t let you go, even as you tried to walk off. “ **Y/n!**   _What book?_ ”

Your head snapped up again, and you blinked away the forming tears. “I,  _um_ ,” You brought your hand up to cover your mouth, as you began to sniffle; your emotions hitting you like a tidal wave. “I go to all of her doctor’s appointments with her and I have the updated list of medications and everything all of her doctors have said and just like all the things I’ve noticed in her health or behavior.. that book is  _so_   _important_.”

Dylan nodded emphatically. “Where is it?”

“In my backpack. I always have it with me.” You stared up at him, as he cradled your cheeks in his hands.

“Okay, good. I can drive you straight to the hospital then. Just slow down a little. Get dressed, brush your teeth, and we’ll go.”

You began to crumble. “It’s so far, what if-”

“ _I’ll drive fast._ ” He shot you a lopsided smile, before pressing his warm and familiar lips against your forehead. “Just pants first, okay?” He said, handing you your jeans off of his bed. You nodded and slowed; but only barely.

* * *

* * *

* * *

 


	11. St. Francis Hospital

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan and Y/n’s relationship hits multiple new milestones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEVER POSTED THIS, UM WHAT?!   
> i feel like someone should've told me that chapter 11 was missing...  
> what a chapter to go missing too.   
> jesus. 
> 
> I AM SO SORRY. 
> 
> also, also,   
> I gave your dad the very generic name of ‘John’ and I gave your grandmother, my real grandmother’s name (Eileen), simply because it was easier than typing out y/gm/n and y/d/n and blah blah blah. *shrugs*

You spotted your Dad, your dad’s girlfriend, Joanne, your cousin, Paige, her mother, Em, her father, Tim, your sister, Maddie, and a few of your grandmother’s life long friends all sitting in the corner, talking quietly to each other. Your fingers were tightly laced up with Dylan’s, as you walked into the waiting room, where you had been told that your family was, when you entered the hospital.

“I got here as fast as I could, but Dyl and I were out in Montauk, so it took me a little while…” You said, trying to explain yourself before greeting your family.

Your sister, Maddie, was the first to get up when she heard your voice. She walked over to you and Dylan and hugged you, then hugged your… _whatever the two of you were calling yourselves at that point_ , having still not had the conversation. “Hey, Dylan, thanks for bringing her.”

Dylan was grateful that he had hung out with Maddie and her fiancé, Ryan, before because it meant that he wasn’t meeting everyone for the first time all at once. “No problem. I’m sorry about your grandma.” He said, once he broke from the brief embrace with your older sister. Maddie thanked him and patted him on the shoulder.

“Holy shit,  _that’s_  Dylan O'Brien.” Your cousin, four years younger than you and a student at Providence College in Rhode Island, whispered to her mother, your Aunt Em.

“Who’s Dylan O'Brien?” Aunt Em whispered back to her daughter with confusion. “Hey, Y/n, did you bring the book?” Your beautiful, dark haired aunt asked you, as she embraced you in a hug.

“Oh, I have it!” Dylan chimed in, pulling your backpack off of his shoulder, and unzipping it to grab the journal inside.

“Thanks.” You smiled at him, taking the book from his hands and handing it to your aunt. “Um, everyone, this is Dylan.. He’s  _uh_ -”

“Y/n’s boyfriend.” He interjected with a bashful smile.

“ _Boyfriend_?” The shorter and heavier set man, who had just finished hugging you tightly, said to you with suspicion and surprise in his voice. “I’m Mr. Y/L/N, Y/n’s dad.”

Dylan’s stomach did a tiny flip, and he stuck his hand out immediately to shake your dads. “Nice to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Dylan smiled. “I heard you make great jam.” He remembered back to your first sort of date at Silly Lily’s and the jars of jam that you had brought the owner.

“Y/n’s told you about my jam!” Your dad exclaimed, excitedly, before getting cut off by Paige, who was clearly the only person in the group who realized that she was in the midst of an actual celebrity.

“You  _are_  Dylan  _ **O'BRIEN**_ , right?” She emphasized his last name, and Dylan smirked and nodded.

“How do you know who he is?” Paige’s father, Tim, asked.

“ **YOU GUYS ARE _THE WORST_**!” Paige exclaimed, a little loudly for a hospital waiting room, before quieting down when she felt eyes suddenly on her. “He’s an  _actual_  movie star.”

“ _What_?” Your dad whipped his head around to glance between you, Dylan and Paige.

“He’s in a movie coming out with Michael Keaton!” Paige continued. “ _ **He was in Teen Wolf!**_ ”

“What is  _Teen Wolf_?” Joanne asked, before Dylan and you began snickering.

“Okay, I’ll explain it all, after someone tells me how Gram is.” You finally interjected, putting your hand up to cease the back and forth.

This was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

You, Dylan, Maddie, your Dad, your Aunt Em, Paige, and a rotating door of other family members and your grandmother’s friends sat in the waiting room for hours. Time moved slowly once everyone had settled down with their copious amounts of questions about you and Dylan’s relationship, and Dylan’s acting career, and Dylan shared love for the Mets with your Dad and Uncle Tim.

A couple people had recognized him and approached the side of the waiting room that your massive family occupied and he stepped away each time to chat for a few minutes and sign something if they wanted, but each time he asked for privacy and each time, his fans were incredibly respectful of their surroundings. You were grateful for it. 

He ran upstairs to the mess hall around one in the afternoon and had bought everyone coffee and sandwiches without any prompting. Your heart swelled twenty times its normal size because of how much he was simultaneously doting on you and trying to impress your family.

* * *

Updates were few and far between and the hours seemed to drag on and on. Dylan decided to play a game with you, once you discovered your headphones tangled up at the bottom of your backpack, in which you both got an earbud and he would play a song on the  _Music_  app on your phone and you had to tell him what year you thought the song came out in. It wasn’t anything particularly fun or exciting, and you were mostly off by a few years each round, but it passed the time for a while. Eventually, he just left your phone on shuffle and enjoyed the feeling of your head sleepily resting on his shoulder and your music playing softly in his ear.

“ _…They want you or they don’t.. Say yes.. I’m in love with the world, through the eyes of a girl, who’s still around the morning after…_ ”

Dylan listened to the words, softly sung into his brain and all he could think about was that morning. His mouth involuntarily curled up at the corners, as he realized that he truly understood what the man singing that song was talking about when he wrote that lyric. When Dylan woke up that morning, you softly breathing against his chest, your hair splayed out over his bicep, barely having moved an inch from the position in which the two of you had fallen asleep in,  _he realized how much brighter the sun was, how much sweeter the birds chirping outside sounded, how much softer his sheets felt, how much silkier the fading smell of your vanilla perfume smelled…_

He had spent the night before watching you, watch a movie that you had been eagerly anticipating for years, and then listening to you go on and on, passionately, about how much you loved it for at least thirty minutes after it had ended. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed going to a movie that much. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed singing in the car, as much as he had the night before when he pretended that your hand, cupped in his, was a microphone that he could sing One Direction hits into, while he drove. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been dragged out onto a beach at night and just lived in the moment of waves crashing off shore. He couldn’t remember the last time he found pure bliss in just leisurely walking through a museum and discussing art.  _Dylan realized that something had cranked the dial of his life up to ten, and he didn’t even notice it happening_.

What had been happening to him, hit Dylan all at once the moment he heard the words to that song.

He was falling in love with life again because you were so passionate about living it. You saw things with a certain wonder and awe. When you talked about something that you loved, you made it sound magical to him. When you walked through life, you did it with extra zeal. It was all rubbing off on him. Dylan leaned over and left a warm and prolonged kiss against your the edge of your cheek, breathing heavily against your skin. He heard you very softly hum and he swore he floated for a moment. He didn’t want to be anywhere else but on that small couch, in the St. Francis Hospital waiting room, with you. As long as he was with you, he was happy.

A familiar name broke his moment of bliss.

“ **Y/L/N family!** ” The doctor called out from the edge of the waiting room. You all stood in an instant, and the man walked over, light blue scrubs under his long white coat.

“I’m John, Eileen’s oldest. What’s the news?” Your dad spoke first, jutting his hand out to shake the doctor’s.

You had parked yourself directly behind your father and hung on every last word coming from the medical professional’s mouth. “So, she had a cardiac event. We don’t want to call it a heart attack because the blockage was minimal, as was the damage.”

“Did you put a stent in?” Your dad asked, cutting the doctor off.

“No, not yet because there was something more that we were missing until we got that book…  _who’s book was that anyway?_ ” He looked around at the faces of your family members, until you raised your hand and stepped forward.

“It was mine. I’m her granddaughter.”

The doctor smiled warmly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to return the kind gesture; you were too on edge. “I read through your  _very detailed_  notes while they were running the CT scan, and it was  _your_ _notes_  about her symptoms from the other day, mixed with her fainting spells, that finally teetered her away from me wondering if she was just dehydrated or if it was something more.” The waiting and frightened faces he was met with were the only reply he needed. “Eileen has atrial fibrillation, which is basically too many electrical impulses being sent to the heart, that it basically shocks the organ, stopping it momentarily, before shocking it again and restarting it.”

“ _Holy shit_ …” You muttered not as quietly as you would’ve hoped. 

To you, something randomly stopping and starting your heart sounded like the worst case scenario. When you coupled that with a blockage in her arteries, you wondered how your grandmother was still alive, and it made you a little sick to your stomach. You trembled slightly, stepping back mere inches,  _until you felt his hand._

Dylan grabbed your left side in one hand and your right hand in his own, keeping you upright. He squeezed and pressed his body closer to yours, as if to say with his fingers, ’ _Lean on me._   _I’ve got you._ ’ You squeezed back tightly and put some of your weight against his chest. You had never been more grateful for someone’s literal support before.

The doctor caught your distress. “No, no,  _you did great._  Those daily entries from when you’d spend time with her were fantastic. Afib can present no symptoms at all, or the symptoms can be confused with other things, but you caught all of them the last two times you spent the day with her: her shortness of breath, her dizziness, her trouble with her balance and walking, her heart palpitations and unwillingness to eat. You caught  _all_  of them and it was  _exactly_  what we needed to rule out the other issues this could’ve been.” He smiled down at you, before addressing the rest of your family, as a whole again. “We caught it, and that’s what matters. The next step for afib is implanting a looping chip in her chest to monitor her heart activity. If everything is normal, then we just have to worry about the blockage. If the heart tracker clocks anything unusual, we may have to go with a Pacemaker, which counteracts the extra electrical impulses.”

“So, either way, it sounds like she needs surgery.” Your uncle chimed in, from the other side of your dad.

The doctor nodded, a melancholy look on his face. “Unfortunately, yes. It’s very routine, but at Eileen’s age, everything comes with an extra set of risks. It’s not ideal to put any elderly person under general anesthesia, but I think it’s really your only realistic option.”

“Do we have to do this today? My sister is on her way up now, she lives out of state-”

As the adults and the doctor began to talk semantics, you, Dylan, your sister and Ryan, and your cousins all broke off to return to the seats that you had previously occupied. You sat down on the small couch in the corner where you had been before, and Dylan wrapped his arm around your shoulders, planting soft kisses against your temple. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

You shook your head, still processing all that had happened and glanced up at the sweet man next to you, with sad eyes. “I feel like this is all my fault-”

“No, stop, you can’t blame yourself for your grandmother’s health deteriorating. She’s older, it’s what happens.” Dylan cut you off.

You barely took in what he said, still shaking your head and blaming yourself. “No, I just..  _the signs were all there_ , but I chalked them all up to her just aging. Like, she’s not as good on her feet, as she used to be, so instead of being  _worried_  about what that meant, I gave her shit for not walking with her cane, and-”

“This is yours. I didn’t want to keep it.” The doctor cut you off, as he approached and offered you your medical diary back. He smiled softly, and spoke once more before leaving to return to his patients. “It was really good. I couldn’t have done this nearly as fast without your notes. You did a good job.” He patted you on the shoulder, smiled and walked away.

Dylan hugged you a little tighter. “ _See_?” He watched your family members begin to shuffle around a bit, some readying to leave once they finally got the news. He assumed that the doctor had told them to go home for the night. “You’re not a doctor, you couldn’t have known what was wrong, and they caught it.  _She’s fine_. He said you did good, babe.”

You glanced up at him, brows still furrowed and a melancholy force still held your shoulders low, but you nodded.  _You heard him, and Dylan was right_. You just wanted to see your grandmother. People began approaching to say goodbye, and finally your dad came over and told you to go home. He thanked Dylan for being there for you the whole day and for bringing you out, and you arranged that you would be the one who would be at the hospital early the next morning when she woke up, before she went in to her procedure to get the monitoring chip implanted.

* * *

Around seven, you and Dylan stumbled into  _Bryant & Cooper Steakhouse_, just down the road from the hospital, and you got seated pretty quickly, regardless of it being a Saturday night, and the restaurant being packed. You were pretty sure that the young hostess recognized Dylan from the moment that the two of you walked through the front door, and she wanted to garner his attention, but it was to no avail. Dylan couldn’t keep his eyes off of  _you_. The two of you were seated, quickly ordered more food than you could probably finish, and waited for the waiter to leave before really getting into any deep discussions.

You smiled, staring at the way that Dylan’s thumb caressed the back of your hand, over and over and over again. “I don’t think you’ve let go of my hand all day.”

“I haven’t wanted to…” Dylan admitted, smiling back at you dreamily. “I’m just glad that I could…  _that you let me be here today_..” He spoke a bit more trepidatiously, and you squeezed his large hand to let him know that there was no reason for it.

“I am  _so_   _grateful_  that you were there. It was really nice having a support system.”

Dylan sighed happily, and leaned back when the waiter brought over the wine and poured it in your glasses. He leaned forward again, speaking a little lower than before. “Can we finally have that talk?  _Please_ , before something else interrupts us?”

You snickered at how exasperated he sounded, and nodded. “ _So_ … did you say that you were my boyfriend just to not have to explain what’s going on here or did you say that because it’s what you want?”

“ _Both_.” He replied, confidently. “Was that okay?” His brows quirked up towards his hairline, as he waited for your quick reply.

“ _Yes_.” You grinned, tucking your chin down in an attempt to hide your blush.

“So,  _this_  is happening…” Dylan gestured back and forth between your bodies with his free hand. “I can call you my girlfriend?”

“I’d like that very fucking much.” You nodded emphatically.

“ _God_ … I don’t want to be in this  _fucking_  restaurant right now..” Dylan couldn’t wipe the grin off of his face. “I just want to be laying in your bed with you, kissing you..  _kissing my girlfriend_..” If possible, his grin grew even wider when you laughed and squeezed his hand.

“I want that too, but I am also starving. Hospital chicken salad sandwiches, eight hours ago, are not really something you can sustain yourself off of.”

“Plus you need your strength to keep up with me in bed tonight.” Dylan smirked and you laughed even louder.

“ _Shut up_.” You playfully threw his hand back towards his side of the table and he laughed, when you immediately went to recollect it and fit your fingers back where they had just been.

* * *

Dylan stared down at the knife cutting into his prime rib and paused. The two of you had been having a wonderful evening together, a nice change of pace from the long and stressful day that was now behind you, but Dylan knew he still had to tell you the truth about Los Angeles. “ _Y/n._.”

Your head rose slightly and you dropped the fork away from your mouth, once you saw his serious expression, and placed it on the edge of your plate. “Oh my god, if you’re  _already_  breaking up with me, I’m not entirely sure what the point of asking me to be your girlfriend was in the first place.” You were joking, trying to cut the tension, but the tension rose when Dylan didn’t laugh or refute your quip.

“I have to tell you something.” He could barely look you in the eyes.

Your hands dropped into your lap and you felt queasy. “ _Are_  you breaking up with me?”

Dylan connected his eyes with yours and shook his head quickly. “ _No, no, never_. I’m so happy that you agreed to be my girlfriend-”

“ _But_?”

“But, I feel like I should’ve told you this before…  _but_..” Dylan groaned and took a sip of his wine, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts and a little extra courage to tell this story. “I was going to tell you when I got home from L.A., but we ran into Julia and Collette at the restaurant and Maddie and Ryan were home, and then we had that  _incredible_  fucking night.” He looked up at you with saddened eyes, silently begging you to remember how amazing that night had been; and all of the subsequent nights since.

“ _Okay_..” You leaned back in your chair. You could feel your hands tremble slightly and an intense heat rise to your cheeks. You wanted him to get to the point before you were sick with anxiety.

“Then I was going to tell you the next morning but we had a pretty heavy conversation and more amazing sex.”

“That’s fine, but you’ve been home for days. Why are you going to tell me whatever it is that you have to tell me now?” You managed to get out, your tone more serious and cold than he had ever heard it.

“It just never seemed like the right time, then we went to the hospital and I just wanted to be there for you, and I was glad that I hadn’t told-”

You had enough. “Can you just  _fucking_   _tell_   _me_  instead of listing all the reasons why it has taken you so long?” Your voice was a smidge louder than it should’ve been in a public setting, so you lowered it with your last word. “ _Please_.”

Dylan grimaced and sighed. “I saw Britt when I was in Los Angeles.”

“ _Oh my god_.” Your hand snaked up in front of your mouth. You were visibly trembling at this point.

Dylan immediately regretted not waiting to tell you, until the two of you were back at your apartment, because all he wanted was to hold and kiss you. But he couldn’t do that here. “Nothing happened. I promise.”

“So,  _what_? You just saw her driving past you on the 101?” Sarcasm was a usual default for you when you got angry or upset.

Dylan shook his head. “No, I did the panel at Comic Con, and we were all feeling so good and so connected to the fans, that we decided-”

“Who’s  _we_?” You asked.

“Posey, Sprayberry, Cody, Khylin and myself.” Dylan answered, and you nodded, straightfaced. “We decided to walk the convention floor, with security, as just a chance to interact with the fans a little more.”

“You ran into her?” You surmised where this was going.

Dylan nodded. “It was shitty timing.  _Riverdale_.. she was hanging out with KJ and the cast of  _Riverdale_ , who were doing a signing on the convention floor, and it was ending, and she saw me, and she approached and fans got excited…  _pictures were taken_.” Dylan glanced up at you, looking for any sign in your face for what you were thinking or feeling, but you remained stoic. So, he continued with a sigh. “I have my arm around her shoulder in a picture and her arm is around my waist.”

“ _Cool_.” You remained incredibly indignant and sarcastic, and pursed your lips. Your arms folded tensely across your chest, and your breathing remained shallow. You were trying really hard not to throw up your dinner from all of this upsetting news.

“That was the end of that there, though.” Dylan tried to reassure you.

“ _There_?” You picked up what he said quickly.

He winced at the way he carelessly worded his sentence. “Yes. She, um,  _fuck_.” He rubbed his hand roughly against his mouth. He’d kill for a cigarette right then, or your hand to hold. Your hand in his would definitely subside the feeling of his stomach churning. “Nothing happened. I swear.”

“Just tell me.”

“She came to my hotel room that night.”

“ _Are you fucking serious?_ ” You hissed, as your eyes narrowed at him.

Dylan couldn’t keep eye contact with you anymore. He felt shame. “Yea, she came and I let her in. She said she just wanted to talk, so I let her.  _She_ -”

You caught the eye of the waiter and flagged him down, interrupting Dylan in the middle of his story. “Hi,  _we’re done_. Can you wrap this food up and bring us the check please?”

“Right away.” The waiter smiled and cleared the plates from the table.

“I’m sorry.” Dylan whispered.

“I don’t want to keep having this conversation here.”

“ _Okay_.” He mumbled and nodded his head.

The two of you sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes, until the waiter returned with your bag of leftovers and the check. Dylan asked him to stay, as he grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out his credit card to hand to the server, who then left before you could grab your wallet out of your purse.

“I’ve got it.” Dylan waved you off.

You shook your head and dug for cash. "Let me pay for half.”

Dylan furrowed his brow. Now you were just being obstinate. “You’re my girlfriend, Y/n. I’m paying for dinner. Plus, it was expensive. I don’t want you paying for anything.”

You let out a loud huff and stuffed your wallet back into your purse. You remained silent and began scrolling through your phone, and Dylan kept his mouth shut. He fought tooth and nail not to ask if you  _were_  still his girlfriend. He was afraid of what the answer would be.

“Thank you so much, Mr. O'Brien. We hope you both come again.”

You smiled at the waiter for a moment and waited for Dylan to sign the check before grabbing your purse and the food and getting up to leave. You walked back towards Julia’s car and waited for Dylan to unlock the doors.  _He didn’t_. Instead, he walked around to the side of the car that you were leaning against, pulled the food and your purse out of your hands, leaving them both on the hood, and stood in front of you.

“I just want to finish telling you what happened.  _Please_.”

You continued scowling, but let a hand sweep out in front of you, gesturing for him to go ahead.

He nodded once and dug his hands into his front pockets, uncomfortable with where else to put them. “She came to my room and we talked.  _That was it._  She was asking about how the press tour was going for  _American Assassin_  and having to talk about  _The Death Cure_  accident, and I may have indulged her a little longer because of that.”

“What do you mean?” You finally broke your silence.

“I mean, I may have let her stay to talk longer than I normally would have because we were talking about the accident and it  _was_ …” He shrugged. “kind of  _nice_  to talk to her about it, simply because she was there for me when it happened and she knew, first-hand, what I went through.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” That sentence hurt you more than he realized. It made you feel like, just because you hadn’t been there when it happened, you couldn’t be the person that he turned to confide his feelings about the event in now.

Dylan continued, not catching how your shoulders slumped forward and your hands lowered slightly to clutch your stomach. He didn’t realize how much he had hurt your feelings. “She was kind of alluding to the fact that her and KJ are having problems-”

“And she wants to get back together with you?”

“I don’t know, maybe.  _I guess._ ” He glanced up at your stone cold face.

“Is that what  _you_  want?”

“ **NO**!” He raised his voice emphatically. “No, god no,  _I want to be with you_. Why else would I have come back here and kept badgering you about having the conversation with me that would lead to us dating for real? _Come on, Y/n._  You’re the one I want. You know that.” He reached his hand out to touch your arm but you flinched away, your hands remained folded across your chest.

“Was that it? When did she leave?”

“She left shortly after.”

“ _Then_?”

“ _Then_ , I went about the rest of my trip. I did the press conference, I got lunch with Tyler, I talked to you.”

“So you haven’t spoken to her since?” You wanted a clarification from him.

He shook his head. “She texted me when I was at the airport.”

“I  _knew_  something was wrong when you texted me that day.” You pointed your finger at him and stepped forward a bit. He continued grimacing in shame. “What’d she say then?”

“ _Just that._.” Dylan sighed heavily and tried to remember. He could tell you where the punctuation was in the text messages that he shared with you that day, but he could barely remember what Britt had said, because  _you_  were the one that mattered. “I think she said she wanted to see me again, but I told her that I was going back to New York, and she said that it was nice catching up and she missed me.”

“ _Oh my god_.” You turned to walk away from him, but Dylan caught your bicep and pulled you back.

He raised his voice again. “ **But I told her to fuck off!**   _Honestly_ , I told her to leave me alone and to not talk to me again. I swear.  _I can show you the texts._ ”

“I don’t want to see the texts, Dylan.”

“Then what can I do? I just wanted to be honest with you about what happened. I don’t want to lie to you ever.” He furrowed his brow and wrapped his other hand around your other arm. You stood awkwardly before him.

“Did you tell her about me?” You asked.

Dylan’s shoulders slouched forward. “No.. I’ll call her and tell her right now, if that makes this better.”

You shook your head and cringed at him. You felt…  _dirty_. “I knew…  _I fucking knew_  that something was going on with you when you were out there.” You shook your head and shimmied out of his hold, walking back over towards the car. “I felt like, maybe I was just being paranoid because it was the first time we had really been separated since becoming a bit more serious, and I just didn’t understand how you worked when we weren’t together. But I should’ve trusted my gut, because I knew that something was wrong with you. You canceled our plans for the night you came back and you kept calling me in the middle of the night, like you suddenly forgot what time zones were, and you just sounded  _off_.”

“Well, that’s cause seeing Britt threw me off, I won’t lie to you, but it was also…” He paused, stepping in front of you, and closing you in towards the car. “I was mostly off because I missed you and I didn’t like being away from you and  _yea_ , it was the first time we were apart and I could’ve done a better job about it.” He trepidatiously reached his hand out to touch your arm. You didn’t flinch away this time, but you also wouldn’t look up at him.

“You’re still so connected to her.”

“ _I’m not_!” Dylan argued, but you continued.

“You’re still connected with her,” You repeated. “and I can’t really even blame you. You dated for six years, and we’ve only been seeing each other for…  _weeks_.”

“Y/n..” Dylan squeezed your arm gently, wanting you to look at him.  _You didn’t_.

Your focus remained on the patch of gravel off to your right. “Honestly, I was surprised that this turned into something more than just hanging out and hooking up for you. We met so shortly after you and her broke up. I was just surprised that you wanted it to be more.”

Dylan narrowed his eyes. He had had enough of your avoidance. He tucked his left hand under your chin and gently tilted your head up to look at him. It was dark, but Dylan could clearly see the bloodshot color of your eyes. You had been holding back tears the whole time. “Did you not want it to turn into more?” He asked, hesitantly.

Your face changed to concern. “No, I did.  _I did_. I-" 

You pulled your chin away from his hand and stared at the collar of his shirt, as your hands instinctively reached out to grab his shirt gently. He practically cried over you finally touching him. His hands found their way into your hair and settled on the back of your neck. 

” _Fuck_. I like you  _so fucking much_ , Dylan. I am so happy when I’m with you.“ You glanced up and saw his brows arched up in hope. "I’m not surprised that this turned into something more  _for me_ because you’re sweet and smart and funny and usually straightforward and so handsome and talented and ambitious and you’re just the  _real deal_ , but…” You paused, dropping your gaze back down to his shirt. “You can have anyone. You’re a  _literal_  movie star and I just worry that you’re rushing into this with me… _that you’re settling_.”

Dylan’s thumbs grazed your cheeks and his hands gently pushed your head up so that he could see your eyes again. “I’m not worried about that at all. I like  _you_  so fucking much, Y/n. I think you’re incredible.” He smiled softly and shook his head. “I think about you  _constantly_ , and I am so happy when I’m with you. I’m so happy just to  _think_  about you. I’m not settling at all. You are literally the smartest person I have ever met. I don’t even know how you know the things that you know. You are so emotionally available and kind and sweet and generous. You give your everything to everyone around you and I think it’s amazing to get to watch. You’re hilarious and,  _fuck_ , Y/n, don’t you realize that I am  _constantly_   _laughing_  when I’m with you? You crack me up all the time.  _And_ ,” Dylan paused to cup your cheek with his hand and lean in more, his brows stitched together causing wrinkles to overflow on his forehead. “you are the most stunning woman I have ever met.  _You are the one that’s the real deal._ ”

“ _Dylan_ …” Your hands snaked up his chest slightly, but your forehead remained wrinkled with sadness and worry.

He shook his head. “I just don’t know what you’re saying. Do you not want to be with me?”

You shook your head. “ _This was_.. I wish you had told me about Britt before you asked me to be your girlfriend.”

“So, you don’t want to be with me?” Dylan dropped his hands, but your fingers curled deeper against the fabric of his shirt.

“ _I do_ , so much. But I just think,  _maybe_ , we should take a little more time before we start calling each other girlfriend and boyfriend and all that. Just maybe flesh out anything else that we’ve been holding back from each other.”

Dylan nodded his head. “This sucks.” It was all he could manage to say.

“ _Yea_..” You stood in front of each other for a few minutes.

Dylan reached into his pocket for his key and finally unlocked the doors. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

“Actually, that’s kind of out of the way. I… There’s a train in like twenty minutes that I can take if you can just give me a ride to the station in Plandome?”

“So, I should go back to Montauk tonight?” Dylan asked, looking like he had just been mortally wounded.

You dropped your eyes to his shoes and the space between your bodies, and slowly nodded. “I-  _It’s been a long day_  and I think the night apart to collect ourselves and calm down and process all this information would be a good idea.” You picked your eyes up to connect with his. “And I’m just fucking exhausted, honestly. Today was horrible.”

Dylan frowned and nodded. He felt horrible. He was hoping, against all odds, that he would slip into your bed that night, hold you and that the two of you would patch everything up. That wasn’t what he was going to get, however. 

“Alright, just tell me where the station is.” He opened your car door for you, handed you the food and your purse and climbed in the other side.

He dropped you off at the Plandome Long Island Rail Road station and watched you ascend to the elevated tracks. You waved sadly at him and then turned to look at your phone, unable to stare at him any longer. Eventually you heard the door to his car close and his tires peel out onto the winding road. You sighed and waited for your train. More miserable than you had been all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ‘Say Yes’ by Elliott Smith isn’t a particularly happy song over all, but it has it’s sweet moment, and I think that when you’re falling in love, you hear the good, lovey dovey lines in every song, regardless of how sad that song is.


	12. Yankees Stadium

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan takes you to the Subway Series the night before he goes to Texas to screen American Assassin.

_“Y/n?” The groggy voice on the other end slurred._

_“ **I’m sorry to wake you up, I just couldn’t sleep..** ”_

_The voice began to sound more alert and soft. “It’s okay. I’m happy you called, regardless of what time it is. Are you okay? Is your grandma okay?”_

_“ **She’s okay… as far as I know, at least. My aunt texted me when she left the hospital after dinner and said she was falling asleep so, I think she’s okay. I’ll see her tomorrow.** ”_

_“Are you okay? It’s…. three in the morning..” Dylan spoke quietly and hesitantly._

_There was a long pause and Dylan listened to you breathing on the other end until you spoke again. “ **I feel like I overreacted and I ju** -”_

_“I don’t think you overreacted. I think I had a ton of chances to tell you about what had happened and I didn’t and if the tables were turned and I was in your position and you had waited this long, I’d be upset too.” He sympathized and you felt worse somehow._

_“ **But you told me… There was no way I would’ve ever found out any of that had happened if you hadn’t told me, so you were being honest and upfront with me, all the while still telling me that it was me that you wanted and I just shut down.** ”_

_“You were having a rough day… I get it.”  Another long silence filled the phone call, and Dylan stared up at his dark ceiling. “Y/n, are you still there?”_

_“ **I’m here**.”_

_“Do you want me to let you go?”_

_“ **That’s the exact opposite of what I want…** ” You paused for only a moment this time, before exhaling heavily. “ **I wish you were here. I shouldn’t have sent you back to Montauk tonight.** ”_

_“I can get on the road and be there in a few hours…” Dylan offered earnestly, beginning to pull the sheets down from over him._

_He heard you huff out a laugh. “ **No, no, you don’t have to do that… just stay on the phone with me instead?** ” You asked, sounding small and sad. It broke his heart._

_“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay up as long as you need me.” He gripped the sheets covering him and turned on his side, laying his head against his phone. He could almost picture you laying in his bed beside him. He wished you were._

_“ **Can I ask you something else?** ”_

_“Anything.”_

_“ **I’ve just been thinking about today and tonight and if… would it still be okay if I started calling you my boyfriend, or did that offer get revoked when I flipped out and got on a train without you?** ”_

_Dylan chuckled and shook his head, as if you could see him. “I would be so fucking happy if you called me your boyfriend, Y/n.”_

_He heard your relieved sigh on the other end of the phone and he smiled. “ **I really wish you were here right now.** ”_

_He clutched at his heart a little. You melted him constantly. “Me too. I’d be stroking your hair and kissing you and telling you it’ll be okay, trying to get you to go back to sleep.”_

_“ **I haven’t slept yet.** ” You admitted._

_He sighed at that news. “Alright, well why don’t we try that. I’ll stay on the phone until you do. You don’t have to talk, just put me on speaker and put me on the pillow next to you, and we’ll sleep, okay?”_

_You we’re falling hard for this wonderful human. “ **Okay**.”_

* * *

* * *

* * *

“I, like, can’t even be mad when Cespedes gets a homerun… like,  _I’m mad_ , but look how happy you are right now. How am I supposed to be upset?” You couldn’t stop grinning because Dylan was grinning.

He leaned over, cupping your face to pull it closer to him, and peppered your cheek with kisses. When he pulled back and caught your gaze, his grin had turned mischievous. “You know that if one of the Yankees get a home run, regardless of how happy you are, I am  _not_  a big enough person to  _not_  be mad, right?”

“ _Yes_ , I am aware that you are much pettier than me.” You rolled your eyes with a laugh.

“As long as you know.” He chuckled, before leaning against the armrest dividing your seats and resting his hand against your thigh. 

You placed a short kiss on his shoulder and placed your hand over his, intertwining your fingers in between his fingers. You grew up watching this sport; you’d loved it since you were a kid and you had gone to countless Mets and Yankees games with friends and even a boyfriend once, but you were pretty certain that you had never had as much fun at a baseball game, as you were having that night. Dylan was so enthusiastic about the sport and you had a zeal for the new team, that you hadn’t felt since the early 2000s, or at least since Jeter had retired a few years prior, and it all combined to make for an exciting and incredibly fun last evening with him.

* * *

You had just stopped clapping and screaming, cheering on your favorite new rookie for the Yankees who had just hit one out of the park in the bottom of the sixth inning, tying the game up and frustrating Dylan. He tried so hard to be as angry as he would usually be but you were so cute when you jumped up and began high-fiving the other Yankees fans around you, that he had to actively force a scowl just to keep up appearances. You turned around to look at him sitting down, the smuggest look on your face, as you closed your eyes and gestured your hands under the Yankees logo embroidered into the front of your Derek Jeter jersey.

“All Rise for the Judge, baby. He is the best.”

Dylan let out a snicker before shaking his head. “ _Alright, alright_ , just sit, okay? The game isn’t over yet.”

You inhaled sharply and purposefully loud against your clenched teeth, as you sat back next to him, playfully grimacing. “I don’t know, Dyl, it feels like it’s heading back my way… It might be over sooner than you think.” You taunted him, before leaning in for a kiss to let him know that you were mostly joking. You gasped and couldn’t help but leave your mouth happily agape when Dylan dodged your kiss, and glared at you playfully. “You are mad enough that you won’t let me kiss you?!”

Dylan laughed and nodded. “That won’t be the only thing I deny you tonight if you keep shitting on my Mets.” He warned with a grin.

“I’m not shitting on the Mets, I’m just pointing out that they’re losing.” You smacked your lips together and tilted your head to the side, pretending to think hard about what he was saying. “Also, I somehow I  _don’t_  think that’s true.”

“ _Oh yea_?” Dylan loved messing around with you, especially as Todd Frazier was up to bat and about to strike out to mercifully end the inning. “What makes you so sure?”

You suddenly relaxed into your seat, glancing at him with a more melancholy smile, not entirely happy that you brought this up. “ _Because you leave tomorrow morning for ten days._ ”

The smile faded from the face of the man who had been grinning all day with you, and he sighed, sinking into his seat a little as well, before reaching over the armrest once again, to hold your hand. “I honestly kind of forgot that I have to go to the airport in the morning.”

You pursed your lips and dropped your gaze down to your interlocked hands. “I’ve been trying to forget about it all day.”

Dylan brought your hand up to his lips and he pressed a gentle kiss against your fingers, before holding them against his heart, over his favorite Mets jersey. “I was having such a good day with you, and so much fun being at a baseball game with a girl that I’m dating, that is as into the game as I am and isn’t catering to my love of the Mets just because I am a Mets fan, and  _who is wearing those leggings like a fucking champ_ -”

You cut him off with a kiss. “I knew you were staring at my ass.”

Dylan shrugged his hands up. “Can you blame me?” He smiled, as your hands reconnected in his lap. “I’m just having an incredibly good day, today.”

“Me too.” You grinned back.

* * *

The top of the eighth inning was about to begin and you finally saw Dylan descending the stairs with a beer in each hand and a wide smile on his face. You were relieved that he was back quickly because you would’ve felt guilty if he had missed a single moment of the Mets up to bat, towards the end of the game, just to get you both fresh drinks. He slid into his seat and handed you the souvenir cup with Aaron Judge on the front, then leaned in to give you a big, wet kiss on the cheek.

“What’s gotten into you?” You said, with a smirk, Dylan’s suddenly chipper mood rubbing off on you.

Dylan took a sip, with curled up lips, and shook his head. “ _Nothing_. Just… I’ll tell you when we get back to your place later.”

You were never one to just let things go. “You could also, just,  _oh_ , I don’t know,  _tell me now_.” You smirked even more when Dylan laughed and shook his head. “ _Dyl_..” You whined. 

“Gotta pay attention, babe. The New York Metropolitans are about to make their come back.” He shook a triumphant and hopeful fist in the air, and you laughed, letting it go until later. This night was about baseball, after all.

* * *

“What’re you doing?” Dylan asked, watching you from his perch against the stacked pillows behind his head.

You were on your stomach, half resting on his muscular thigh and defined hip, mostly covered by a thin sheet, that you had pulled up after the sweat, that you had garnered from your time rolling around with Dylan, made you cold, in your sudden inactivity. “ _Nothing_.” You murmured, as you continued rubbing your fingers up and down the hair on his right forearm, lazily resting across his stomach. You hadn’t noticed how intently he had been watching you, as you were completely focused on your own movements.

“What are you looking at?” He asked again, while his left hand began gently stroking your hair.

You laid your cheek against his stomach, moving your curious fingers from his arm to his happy trail and pubic hair below. He squirmed at your touch, until you spoke and he heard the melancholy tone of your voice. “Ten days is a long time.”

He watched your hand firmly move across his pelvis to hug and grip at his right hipbone, jutting out under his creamy skin. “It is a long time.” Dylan thought about leaving it at that, but he couldn’t help but seize the opportunity. He’d been wondering if you had thought about this aspect yet. “You know, there will be points where it’ll be  _longer_  than ten days between seeing each other, like if I book another movie.”

“ ** _WHEN_**  you book another movie.” You quickly corrected him, with an even quicker glance up, before you rested your sights back on all of the hair on his lower body. Your fingers picked up their tracing movements against the muscles underneath his skin once again. “ _And I know that_.”

“You’ve thought about it?” He asked, his curiosity becoming too much to hide.

You tilted your head up and finally flopped onto your side, on the mattress. Dylan took his sudden freedom from underneath your body, to slink down under the sheets with you, his feet suddenly hanging fully off the end of the bed, and lay on his side to face you. He tucked your messy, sex-hair behind your ear and traded places, now being the one to trace the curves of your naked body.

“Of course I’ve thought about it, and it sucks, but it’s what I signed up for and it’s what you love doing…  _the acting_ , not the leaving me part.”

Dylan snickered. “Just to clarify?”

“ _Yup_.” You popped the ’ _p_ ’ between your lips with some emphasis, then smirked at how he let his facetious undertones come to the surface. “And  _I don’t know_ , I just figured that I can go back to traveling when you’re on location shooting somewhere, and maybe I can occasionally work my trips out to put me in the same place as you sometimes, or I can always work from L.A. for a couple of months and hang out when you’re shooting there, and eventually I’ll get a job writing for some news whatever and we’ll work it out.”

“What about when I’m here?” Dylan said with a knowing smile.

You wished that you knew too, suddenly. “What do you mean?”

“ _I mean_ ,” Dylan paused to press a firm and warm kiss to your forehead, his fingers suddenly tangling with your hair. He moved them down to your neck, as he pulled away. “I got a call-back for the day between Texas and London, when I’m in L.A., for that show that shoots in New York.”

“When did you find out?” Your eyes widened with your smile, and you pressed a hand against his firm chest. “Oh my god,  _I knew you would_.”

Dylan’s smile became more genuine and soft, like it felt good to see how proud of him you were. “I checked my voicemail when I went to grab us beers-”

“That’s why you came back all cheery?” Dylan nodded, with a smirk. “Dyl, I’m so happy for you. I’d be happier if you would just tell me what the show is, but I’m proud nonetheless. I know you wouldn’t pick something that wasn’t amazing. When do you find out?”

Dylan sighed happily and began kissing up the inside of your bare arm; you filled him with such bliss, and he couldn’t help that the way he always ended up showing you how happy you made him was through his ever present need to touch or kiss you. He finally rested his head, gently, in the crook of your elbow, and glanced up at you, hovering over him, still propped up. 

“Well, it’s the third audition, so hopefully it’s just me and a couple other dudes, and hopefully, I’ll find out by the end of that day. They were pretty willing to work out the audition with my schedule, so that’s a good sign.”

“Sounds like they want you.” You bit the smirk on your lip, about to make a crude joke about them not being the only ones who want him, before he cut you off.

“You know what that means though?”

“What?” You asked, with a raise of your brow.

“I’ll be shooting in Manhattan from late September to early November.” His lips curled up gently at the ends, as he stared into your perfect y/e/c eyes.

“So… we won’t have to worry about having to fly back and forth to see each other for a little longer?”

Dylan shook his head with a toothy beam, that struck you straight through the heart. “ _I’ve been apartment hunting._ ”

“ _Here_?” You couldn’t help the surprise in your tone.

Dylan nodded and pursed his lips, hoping that was going to be viewed as a good thing to you. “Looking mostly in Manhattan, but yea, here.”

“To rent?” You were trying to keep your excitement in check until you knew more.

“ _To buy._ ” He clarified.

You nodded for a long moment, still trying to fight the absurd squeals of joy that were trying to make it passed your lips. “ _So_ , does that mean that you’ll be looking for other parts that shoot here after your mystery show is done?”

“That was the plan..  _if that’s okay with you?_ ”

You nodded again, arguably too much, for too long, and pressed your fingers against your lips, trying to make it seem like you were thinking about it. Really, you were doing heel clicks in your head and screaming triumphantly from imaginary mountaintops. 

“I am trying very hard not to get overly excited and look like a huge fucking dork right now.” You admitted, certain that Dylan would find it endearing.

“ _Oh thank god._ ” Dylan let out a huff, in relief, and collapsed onto his back. “I was nervous that you’d think that this was too much too soon.”

You climbed onto Dylan’s chest, propping your chin up against the back of your hands that laid flat on his sternum. He stared down at you with a smile. “ _Oh, yea_ , my boyfriend wants to live in the same city as me sometimes,  _what a terrifying show of his commitment_.” You said sarcastically, with an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“Oh, you’re gonna get sassy with me,  _huh_?” Dylan quirked his eyebrow up, as his genuine smile was replaced by something more mischievous. “Maybe I won’t look for something out here after all…” He feigned disinterest and laid his head back to look up at the fan rotating slowly on your ceiling.

You happily played right into his game, hoping that it would lead to another round of goodbye sex. “No, no,  _don’t go._ ” You shimmied up his body further, leaving light kisses against his bare skin, as you went.

Dylan suddenly flipped you onto your back and got on his hands and knees around your body, as your hands reached up for skin and contact. You glanced at his suddenly reinvigorated and growing friend, dangling between his legs, and you smirked hard. “You’ve gotten your way much too much tonight.”

“Time for you to get yours?”

Dylan buried his lips into your neck and nodded. “ _Mhmm_.”

* * *

“That was hate sex because the Mets lost to the Yankees last night, wasn’t it?” You grinned down to your sleepy-looking boyfriend, as he sat on the floor of your bedroom, refolding the clothes that he had taken out after staying over for the past two days.  

Dylan chuckled and shook his head, not looking up from his task at hand. “ _Totally_.”

“Good thing the Mets lose so often. It was good.” You continued teasing.

Dylan raised an eyebrow at you, but the groggy smile wasn’t erased from his face yet. “Quit giving my Mets shit, Y/n, or I’ll have to remind you of who won the World Series most recently." 

“ _Right_ , but  _who_  won when the Yankees played the Mets  _in_  the World Series?” You taunted him. 

Dylan narrowed his eyes at you. “Yea,  _only_  cause Roger Clemens was a roided out maniac, who threw a  _fucking_   _bat_  at Mike Piazza!” 

“You have  _got_  to let that go. It was a literal  _seventeen_   _years_  ago.”

“Over my dead body.” Dylan said with a smirk. You were about to remind him of how many times the Mets had won a World Series, versus how many times the Yankees had, since you both had been alive, but Dylan changed the subject. "Can I leave  _this_  here until I get back?”

You nodded with a smile. “Grab a hanger and leave it next to mine.”

“Leave my David Wright jersey next to a  _Yankees jersey_? That feels wrong.” He hung it up next to your jersey in your closet anyway, not seeing you roll your eyes at him, but knowing fully that you had done it.

“What time do we have to head out?”

Dylan glanced at the clock on your dresser, then back to you, as he placed his neatly folded clothes into his full duffel bag. “Forty-five minutes?”

“ _Okay_.” You sent him a lopsided frown, and crawled backwards to the head of your bed, to climb under your blankets until you had to leave to take Dylan to the airport.

“Don’t be sad.” Dylan said as he zipped up his duffel and climbed onto the bed with you, letting you position yourself against his shoulder, the moment he draped his arm across your back to pull you in. “I promise I’ll call every day.”

“You don’t have to.” The last thing you wanted was to be a clingy nuisance.

“I mean, I won’t if you don’t want me to, but I’d like to hear your voice at least once a day.” He admitted, as he played with your hands in his lap.

“I’d like that very much.” You tilted your head up and he pressed a soft, reassuring kiss against your lips. The two of you sat in silence for several minutes, him rubbing small circles into your back, with his thumb, and you tracing the veins in his hand and arm, until you couldn’t keep yourself from asking something that you had been thinking about since the night before. “ _Dyl_?”

“ _Hm_?” He hummed into the crown of your head, where he had been leaving barely there kisses for a few minutes.

“About you moving to Manhattan for some of the year..” He picked his head up out of your vanilla scented locks and looked down at you with knitted brows. “This is definitely what you want,  _right_? I’m not fucking with your career or something, am I? I feel like you’re on the precipice of becoming this massive household name and I just don’t want to mess that up because you’re not taking jobs in L.A. as often as you should or something.”

Dylan shook his head and smiled. He appreciated your thoughtfulness. “This summer has made me miss living in New York so much. I can be so much more anonymous here and just sort of live. I mean,  _hell_ , we take the subway and go to bars and stuff and either only a few or no pictures at all pop up online. That doesn’t happen for me when I’m in Los Angeles.” He paused to rub your warm and nervously red cheeks with the backs of his fingers. “ _This is what I want_. You aren’t fucking up my career. They film so much shit here. I’m not limiting myself, I promise. Plus, if there’s a role I want in L.A.,  _I’ll go back_. I mean, I bought the house there, I might as well stay there some of the time too.”

That honestly made you feel better. The thought that he could be throwing away opportunities for you, as self-involved of a concern as that may have been, had been weighing on you heavily throughout the night and morning. “Okay. That’s good. I just, I was worried about that, but if you think it’s fine.”

“I do.” He pressed a kiss into your hairline. “And I liked your ideas last night. I’m glad that you think you can come out and work from L.A. sometimes, or if I’m on location somewhere outside the States, you can be traveling too. It’s good to know that there isn’t too much expectation for us to change everything just cause we’re dating.”

“ _Sometimes you do your thing, sometimes I do mine?_ ” You said, looking up at him with a content smile. Dylan nodded. “I like that too.”

A few more minutes in comfortable silence passed, until Dylan realized it was time to leave. The two of you begrudgingly got out of bed, put on your shoes, and made your way to the train. A quick ride to Jamaica, a walk up the stairs, a ten minute wait, and soon, you were sitting on an all too familiar commute to JFK, via AirTran. 

The two of you had created a bit of a routine, for when you would take him to the airport. You held his pillow in your lap, and he held your hand under the pillow. It was to keep anyone from snapping a photo of you two in an intimate position, but today, you had your head leaning against his shoulder as well. You couldn’t help it. If someone took a photo of the two of you and posted it on the internet, so be it, you just wanted to feel grounded by the feel of his muscular shoulder against your cheek, and the familiar smell of his body wash and detergent. He didn’t pull away either, instead, he simply kept his cheek pressed against the top of your head, and the bill of his Mets cap low on his face.

You handed him his pillow and you assumed your positions of him on the outside of the monorail car, and you on the inside, separated by air, but soon to be closing doors. You sighed heavily and paid no attention to the people that were filling the car back up around you, as the two of you kissed quietly in the doorway.

“I’ll text you before I take off.” He said, as he pulled away.

“Okay.” You continued to hold up a bit of the routine.

“And when I land.” Dylan continued.

“Okay.” You smiled, you couldn’t help it. You liked that he knew that you would worry otherwise.

“And I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you more.”

Dylan smiled and nodded. “You were supposed to say ’ _Okay_.’.”

“Okay.” You teased with a grin.

“I’ll call you tonight during the game.”

“I’ll be wearing your jersey.” You said with a wiggle of your eyebrows and a smirk.

Dylan clasped his hand over his heart, as if he had been wounded by your words. “If only.”

The doors dinged, indicating that they were about to close. “Have a safe flight.”

“Always.” He continued walking backwards until the doors did close and the monorail began to take you back to Jamaica.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you couldn’t help but smile. You just knew it was him. You glanced at the time before opening the text. It wasn’t even six in the morning yet. You had every intention of going home and crawling back in your bed, that hopefully still smelled like him.

You finally opened the text.

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _If you do actually wear my Mets jersey tonight during the game_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _I’m going to require photographic evidence_

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _i guess you’ll just have to wait and see…_.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**[okay, maybe Roger Clemens was a roided out psychopath… Dyl is definitely still not over this….](http://were-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com/ask) **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter/flashback took place in about the last week of July, and this chapter takes place on August 14th. I used some revisionist history here, because I remember Dylan went to a Mets game over the summer but I couldn't remember when, and I decided that there was no better game to go to for these two than a Subway Series game, which is what happened on August 14th. It was good timing. Also, the Yankees did win that game, and it was a really good game, and yea. that's it.


	13. Austin Bergstrom International Airport

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan spends a week traveling between the American Assassin screening in Austin, Texas, an audition in Los Angeles, and American Assassin press in London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two dashes/breaks/whatever you wanna call them, denote a passing of a day, or two. Don’t worry, I’ll help out with the dates.. 
> 
> The first section (of Dylan in the airport) is August 15th.  
> The second section is August 16th.  
> Dylan flying to London is August 17th, and him on his first day of UK press is August 19th.  
> The email section and phone call is August 20th, and the last part is August 23rd. 
> 
> Chugging along...

Dylan stared down at his phone with a grin, shaking his head and quietly snickering to himself. " _Ridiculous_."

"What is it?" Mary, his manager asked, glancing over Dylan's shoulder, as they stood on line, waiting to get through airport security. 

Dylan locked his phone, stuffed it in his pocket, and moved forward in the short line. "Nothing. Y/n just sent me a funny picture, is all." 

* * *

He left his backpack in the seat next to Mary, and got up to walk a little before he had to get on his flight. He figured he would get a coffee and give you a quick call, hoping that you weren't physically in your office still. It was about eight in the evening back in New York, so he figured that you were probably home. He pressed your number on your contact page, and listened to the line ring. 

" _Hey, you._ " 

Dylan instantly grinned and began to pace, dodging people trying to get to their gates. "Hi. You have a few minutes?"

" _Always. How was the screening?_ " 

"It was cool. I actually watched a majority of the movie, which was weird, and people gasped and shit, so that was funny."

" _What'd people think?_ " You cut him off, curious to hear feedback about how the Alamo Drafthouse American Assassin screening had gone earlier in the day. 

"People really loved it, but I guess I take it with a grain of salt, because, like, the people who came out were like big fans of Taylor and I's, and I think they mostly wanted to see us at the Q&A after, so-"

" _But they loved it?_ " You cut him off again, not appreciating his skepticism. 

"So they said." 

" _You are such a worrywart. I'm sure they actually loved it, and didn't just love it because you're shirtless._ "

Dylan began laughing. "Oh my god, babe, the funniest shit happened at the Q&A." Dylan was still laughing, as he began to walk over to the Starbucks near his gate, patting his left pocket to make sure he had his wallet. 

" _What happened?_ " 

"I was telling the story about how Taylor and I were texting each other about where all of our bruises were after filming a fight scene," You hummed in agreement, remembering him telling you this story. "and how I was going to take a picture of the ones on my ribs to send him, and someone in the crowd just screams out, like, 'Can you take your shirt off now?' and I was like, 'No?!'" Dylan was laughing pretty hard, garnering a glance from the older man in front of him, on line for coffee. 

You laughed with him. " _I don't blame them, though. I've seen the shirtless pictures of you as Mitch, it's good._ " 

" **YOU'VE SEEN _ME_ SHIRTLESS IN REAL LIFE!** " Dylan exclaimed a little too loudly for his setting. It warranted a full turn around from the man in front of him. He grimaced and waved apologetically, before snickering. 

" _That too, I guess._ " You said in a joking tone. 

Dylan laughed and shook his head. "I hate you." 

" _I know._ " You replied, and he smiled. " _What else happened?_ " 

Dylan paused for a moment to order his coffee and pay, then continued your conversation while he waited. "Um, oh, they brought in a bunch of vets and active duty military guys from a nearby base in Austin, and I got to talk to a bunch of them after the fact, and they all really loved the movie, and that was cool because that's not a population that I interact with too often, but they were all really nice and welcoming and yea, I don't know. That was cool."

" _That is cool, and they probably would've told you if they weren't into the movie, so I think that means that it's good, babe. You can't keep denying it._ "

"I know, I'm just nervous. I want people to like it. I don't want it to suck. I wanna keep making them. I had so much fun with the first."

" _Well, I want Mitch Rapp in my bed at night, so I couldn't agree more._ "

"You are the absolute worst."

" _Just grow that beard again, baby, and I'm all yours._ " You teased. 

"You already are all mine."

You made a noncommittal noise through the phone. " _Meh, that's debatable._ " 

Dylan rolled his eyes at you, with a soft snicker, and grabbed his coffee when his name was called. "How was your day?"

" _Boring. I went home and slept, got breakfast with Sarah and John before work because we were all in the city today, then went in the office and banged out a ton of research for that case that I've been helping with that goes to trial in November._ "

"So, a productive day?"

" _Yeah_." You agreed, letting out a quiet yawn. " _I'm gonna take a nap while you're on your flight, and then I guess I will just hang out with Maddie and Ryan and watch the game with them until you Skype me._ "

"You can just watch the game with them and I can text you, if you want." Dylan frowned slightly, as he brought his coffee cup up to his lips and took a small sip.

" _Nah, I'd rather watch it with your running commentary._ "

Dylan chuckled and watched as people began lining up near his gate. "Alright, babe, I'll Skype you later tonight then."

" _You gotta go?_ " You knew the tone in his voice.

He tutted his tongue against his teeth and began to make his way back over to Mary, to collect his backpack. "Yea, I think I'm gonna board soon. I'll text you before I take off though."

" _And when you land_."

Dylan couldn't help but smirk over the fact that this exact conversation was becoming a routine for the two of you. He liked it very much. It was nice being fussed over, and it was nice that someone wanted to make sure he was safe every single time one of his many flights touched down at its new airport. "You got it."

" _Okay, I'll talk to you later then._ "

"Bye, babe."

* * *

 

* * *

 

Dylan woke up in his childhood bed, in his parents house in Manhattan Beach, on the Pacific Coast, south of Los Angeles. He shot you a good morning text and then confirmed with Posey that they would still be meeting for lunch, after he got done looking over his soon to be brand new house and signing the paperwork for it with his mom and the realtor. His day was going to be incredibly busy, between the house, lunch with Posey, picking out a new bed and some furniture, and still making it to his audition in the evening, but Dylan, honestly, preferred to stay busy when he wasn't with you. It kept his mind from wandering off and dwelling over how much he missed you when you were across the country. 

He snapped you pictures of the house and the paperwork, triumphant as he drew his signature on the last page of the contracts. He was now a homeowner. You sent him texts back with balloon and confetti emojis and later another picture that made him laugh so hard that his mom had to ask him if he needed some of her water. He declined and sent you a text back. 

 **Dylan O'Brien:** _hate you so much._

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _i can live with that, as long as i have him._  

Dylan showed Posey the text later, at lunch, and Posey laughed for a solid two minutes over the variety of pictures you had sent him, all depicting you doing the same thing. Tyler was pleased to see how much happier his best friend seemed on this trip, compared to the last. 

"She's coming out for your birthday, right?" Posey confirmed. 

Dylan nodded, in between bites of his chicken quesadilla. They were back at Salsa and Beer again. You had officially gotten the two of them just as hooked as you. "Absolutely. She flies out here the day before. She's amazing, though, bro. I can't wait for you to meet her."

Dylan felt like his audition went incredibly well, but by the time he called you, around nine that night on the West Coast, he was second guessing everything. 

" _Have they called yet?_ " You asked enthusiastically, excited to hear the news.

"No, and I'm fucking bummed. I definitely didn't get the part."

" _Hush, love. I don't know why they would give it to anyone but you. I'm sure they are just getting their ducks in a row. They'll call._ "

"I hope."

Dylan woke up to no missed calls or voicemails, but a long, sweet and encouraging text message from you. He smiled and felt a bit relieved. If he didn't get this part, there were other things in Manhattan that he could audition for, and he could just start his winter in Los Angeles early, if he really had to. He was sure that you would probably come out to join him, if it came down to it. He groaned when he looked at the time and knew that he had to get going to LAX. Another day, another flight. 

His dad drove him and Mary to the airport, and Dylan texted you before take off. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Oh good, they have Deepwater Horizon as an in flight movie.... -___-_

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _hahahahah I hear Gina Rodriguez is amazing in that._

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _I've heard the same thing. Too bad I will be watching Lost City of Z_

 **Y/n Y/L/N** : _yea, like four times._  

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Oooh, and Straight Outta Compton_

 **Y/n Y/L/N** : _proper in flight entertainment :P_

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _I'm gonna try to knockout before we take off. I'll text you when we land._  

 **Y/n Y/L/N** : _alright. sleep tight, babe. have a safe flight._

You had never experienced a longer eleven hours than the ones that dragged by as Dylan was on his flight from Los Angeles to London. You honestly  felt like you were kind of going crazy with not even having the option to talk to him. You were the definition of clingy that day, and you didn't even care. You checked his flight status on your flight tracker app several times throughout the day; giddy anticipation washing over you as you saw the little plane emoticon making its final approach towards Heathrow. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Well that was a shitty forever hour flight not getting to talk to you_. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Guess where I am though? :)_

"Thank god." You quietly muttered to yourself, as you stared at his name on your phone.

* * *

 

* * *

You glanced at the time on the clock on your dresser. You had to be imagining things. It was insanely early. He better be dying.... well, actually, he better fucking not be.

"Dyl?" You grimaced at how early morning goblin you sounded. 

" _You definitely hate me right now because it's four in the morning there and I'm a dick for calling you so early, but guess what?_ " Dylan waited, but only heard silence. " ** _Y/N!_** " 

"I'm awake!" Your eyes jolted open. "What were you saying? What happened? Are you okay?"

" _Your boyfriend is going to be a opening credited lead on the fourth season of Showtime's hit drama, ' **The Affair** '._" 

"What?" You were definitely dreaming because Dylan was making literally zero sense.

" _Babe_..." Dylan said, in a calmer tone, like he was about to approach this from a different angle. 

"Yea?"

" _I got the part._ " 

" **WHAT**!" You shouted.

" _Oh babe_..." Dylan grimaced. 

"Shit, that was loud. Maddie is going to murder me... but what? Dylan, you got the... wait... I was half asleep like forty seconds ago, but did I hear you say ' _The Affair_ '?"

Dylan chuckled. " _Yea, have you heard of it?_ "

"Not only have I heard of it, but I've watched every fucking season. Holy shit, Dyl. That show is amazing. The writing and the storytelling is-"

" _So fucking cool, right?_ " Dylan laughed. " _I can't believe you watch it. That's so dope. I'm on a show that my girlfriend already likes._ "

"And watches with her sister... please tell me there are no sex scenes. I really don't need Maddie seeing your ass... _or your dick_. Oh my god, Dylan, _did you sign up for full frontal?_ I have definitely seen dicks on that show."

Dylan laughed even harder and it brought warmth into your chest. You clutched at the fitted sheet next to you, under your comforter. It had only been a handful of days, but with good news worth celebrating, you desperately wanted him back in New York. You relished in what you could tell was his full body laughter over the phone, though. You'd take what you could get. 

" _No, no, no full frontal babe, but-_ "

"Do you, _I'm new to this whole thing,_ but I'm assuming you know the role you'll be playing? Are you even allowed to tell me?" You were pretty much fully awake, regardless of the fact that it was pitch black both outside and in your room. You threw your hand towards your nightstand in search of your TV remote. 

Dylan settled to a soft chuckle before speaking again. " _Well, I lose my job and get sued if you tell_ -"

"My lips are so fucking sealed, babe." You said, as you turned on the television, wincing at the sudden flashes of bright light that flooded your bedroom. 

" _I know. I'm playing Allison's new, young writer boyfriend, lover guy, who's basically cruel and manipulative and cutthroat to everyone but Allison, and Noah hates me because I'm getting published and he can't seem to either finish his book or entice Allison back to him, so I'm like a lovable antagonist sort of, or at least, that's how I read the part, and apparently, that's why they gave me the role._ "

"Cause they liked how you interpreted it?"

" _Yep_." You could just tell Dylan was beaming on the other end of the call. 

"There are definitely going to be love scenes then though?" You said, a lopsided frown taking over your face, as you stared blankly at an early morning rerun of _Boy Meets World_ played on MTV.

" _Yea_..." Dylan hesitated. " _How big of an issue is this going to be? I didn't want to tell you before I got the part, just cause I didn't want it to be a thing, in case I didn't get it._ "

You thought for a minute, and then sighed. "It's not like you actually have sex, right?"

" _Never_."

"But Maddie is probably going to see your ass at some point?" 

" _Very possibly... I promise, it's all just pretend. I can bring you to set the days we shoot that kind of stuff, if that'll make you feel better._ " 

You smiled at his offer. He was trying. "I think I'll want to rip Ruth Wilson's stupid duck lips off her-"

Dylan began laughing hysterically again. " _Her duck what?_ " 

"Oh my god, Dyl, google it. It's, like, all Maddie and I ever see, that and how Dominic West always looks like he's trying to literally eat Ruth Wilson's chin, and I do mean, literally." 

Dylan's uproarious laughter emanated from your phone and you curled back against your pillow, letting the sound of him lull you back to sleep. " _I'll google it during my lunch break from press._ "

"You gonna have time to call me again later?" You asked, finally shutting your eyes and trying to push visions of Dylan kissing Ruth stupid duck lips Wilson out of your brain. 

" _Absolutely, baby. I'm sorry I called so early but I was checking my emails and voicemails and stuff during breakfast and they called me last night but I was already passed out from jetlag...._ " Dylan paused. " _I couldn't wait to tell you. I wanted you to be the first person to know._ "

"I'm glad I answered the phone." You murmured. 

" _Baby_..." Dylan paused, excitement evident in his voice. " _I'm gonna get to see you almost every day._ "

You purred at the thought of it. "Mmmm, that sounds wonder.."

" _Am I losing you_?"

"Not if you have more to tell me." You fought to reopen your eyes.

Dylan's voice lowered and softened. " _No, it's okay, beautiful. Shut those perfect eyes, curl back up, and go back to sleep. I wish I was there_."

You practically purred at his silky, low, whispery tone telling you it was okay to fall back asleep. You hummed quietly. "Mmmm, okay. I wish you were here too."

" _Go to sleep, you cute little groggy one_."

"Miss you." You slurred.

" _Miss you too. Sweet dreams, baby. Text me when you wake up._ "

"Mmkay... have a good day."

" _Night_." Dylan said, before hanging up. You let go of the phone and let it droop down your pillow before it hit your mattress. You fell back asleep instantly.

* * *

“Yo.”

Dylan laughed. “ _You sound much more awake than you did earlier._ ”

“Well, Dyl, when you call a girl at 4:03AM, you tend to not get her at her sharpest.”

Dylan snorted a little. “ _I’m sorry, baby. I shouldn’t have called so early. I’ve felt terrible about it all day._ ”

" _Well, Dyl, when you call a girl at 4:03AM, you tend to not get her at her sharpest._ "

Dylan snorted a little. "I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have called so early. I've felt terrible about it all day."

" _Don't. That was the best phone call and the best news. I'm still so happy about it... Plus," You snickered quietly. "that picture you sent me this morning definitely made up for it._ "

Dylan laughed. "You make it sound like I'm sending you dick pics." You wished. "It was just what I was wearing today."

" _Yes, but you had on my favorite shoes. You looked so good today, baby._ "

Dylan continued laughing. "I knew you'd like the shoes."

" _I really, really do. They make your feet look huge, and you know what they say about big feet..._ "

"Oh my god." You could hear Dylan rolling his eyes at you.

" _Big socks._ " You couldn't help the smirk on your face, when Dylan laughed extra loud. If you were ridiculous, he was too.

"God, you are..... I'm rolling my eyes so hard at you right now."

" _Careful they don't roll out. I like them where they are._ " Dylan groaned and then laughed again. You decided to cut him some slack and quit being cheesy. " _How was press today? I watched the Twitter Q &A and you were such a fucking troll with the ' **it's. a. movie.** ' answer. I was dying laughing_."

Dylan chuckled. "I can't believe you watched."

" _Yea, well, I miss your face. It wasn't a hard decision. Plus you being a facetious little asshole with your ' **I was the funniest one on set'**..._ " You paused and sighed, your cheeks hurting from smiling. " _You're the fucking cutest._ "

Dylan snickered. "God, I miss you."

You sighed again, heavier this time. " _I miss you more. How was the rest of the press?_ "

"Umm..." Dylan hummed for a minute while he thought. "Oh! Oh my god, this was hilarious. So, someone asked me if I'd rather fight Mitch or have my past and future browser history revealed to the world and I was like doubled over laughing."

“What’d you pick?”

“ _Jesus christ, fight Mitch, a thousand percent, fight Rapp_.”

You chuckled and shook your head. " _God, Dyl_ ," The teasing tone evident in your voice. " _watch your porn in an incognito window like the rest of the world, you giant idiot. Mitch would kick your cute little butt._ "

Dylan laughed so loud that you had to separate the phone from your ear. A homeless man, holding up a sign and a cup, on the curb, stared at you with judgement, over how loud Dylan was laughing through your phone. You shrugged and kept walking home. "Speaking of kicking butt, in another interview.. I had great interviewers today, actually." Dylan reflected for a moment. "Anyway, in another interview, there was barely an actual interview, this woman just had me, like, demonstrating fight moves from the movie, to her, on her. I almost flipped her over my shoulder. I was honestly hilarious." You smiled at how excited he sounded about his day. Nothing made you happier than knowing that he was happy. "Oh my god! Actually, the guy who asked me about my internet history, also asked me about if I like pineapple on my pizza."

" _Oh hell no._ " You intervened with a laugh. 

Dylan chuckled. "I know, I know, I was like ' _Dude, absolutely not. I am morally against it_.', but then after the interview was over, before he left the room, I was like ' _My girlfriend is from New York too and if you think that I have opinions about Hawaiian-style pizza._.'"

" _Did you tell him that I think it's an affront to civilization_?"

Dylan laughed even louder. "You fucking bet I did."

You grinned, as you walked through your favorite bodega, looking for a cold iced tea to quench your thirst, and give you a tiny caffeine boost. " _Sounds like you had a great day, considering you were kind of dreading the press._ "

"I really did." Dylan sighed. "Tell me about  your day."

* * *

 

* * *

You sat in your office, shaking your head and grinning ear-to-ear, while staring at your phone. 

"Earth to Y/n... _**HELLLLO**_!" You blinked when you saw a hand waving in front of your face. 

"Sorry, Marcy.. I just-"

"A text from Dylan?"

You grinned again. "An email. He is the biggest dork, listen to this. It is addressed to ' _World's Best Girlfriend_ ', so immediately, I know he wants something." Marcy, your favorite junior associate at the law firm you worked part time for, snickered at your comment. Marcy, an apparently closeted Teen Wolf super-fan, all but lost her mind when you told her that you were dating Dylan O'Brien... or as she put it, ' _Stiles Stilinski?!?!_ '. "He goes on to tell me that.." You looked up to explain. "So, he just bought a house in Los Angeles, like signed the paperwork a few days ago, and he really doesn't have any furniture for it yet, like, he has his bedroom stuff from his apartment, but-"

"Not enough to fill a house?" Marcy finished your thought, between bites of her soup. 

You nodded. " _Exactly_ , and on top of that, he's throwing a big birthday party for himself and another friend at the new house on the twenty-sixth."

"Of this month?" 

" _Yeaaaah_ , exactly, like, six days from now. So, according to this email, he's getting rental furniture for while we're out there, which is fine."

"That's clever."

"That's what I thought too, but he just sent me a bunch of links to furniture that he wants in his house for real, and he wants my opinion on."

"That's big... he wants your input."

"Yea, I kind of love him for that. It's really sweet."

Marcy stared at you, wide eyed and silent, until you looked up in confusion as to why she stopped talking. "Did you just say you loved him?"

You twisted your suddenly reddening face. " _No_... I said, no. _Shut up_. We aren't there yet."

"You sure?" 

You groaned. "Yes," A long pause, silenced the break room, as your eyes glanced over the bottom part of the email that you hadn't read yet.

"What's wrong? I was just teasing."

You shook your head, and sent Marcy a lopsided smile. "No, I know. I- So, Dylan is in London doing press for _American Assassin_."

"Right?"

"And I guess, this morning, he was doing a radio show and they did like a word game with him, and I quote," You began reading directly from the email. "' _They gave me two initials and I had to think of a famous person who had those initials. They said BR, because they were clearly baiting me, but I honestly thought of Babe Ruth first, because of your Yankee ass :) and they said, 'what about Britt Robertson?' and they kept calling her my girlfriend, and I kind of froze and didn't say anything. Please don't be mad_.'"

" _Oh, shit_... that's his ex, right?" Marcy asked, sadness taking over her features. "Did he apologize?"

You nodded and huffed out a frustrated breath through your nose. "Yea, and I get it, cause like, he's super private and it would have caused such a huge shitshow if he was like ' _Oh, no, we broke up_.' but like, that sucks that he's my boyfriend, but people still think he's dating someone else."

"Are you upset with him?" Marcy asked, as you scrolled to the bottom of the email. 

You shook your head, and pursed your lips, until they twitched up slightly at the corners. "No," You snickered and rolled your eyes, before turning the phone around and showing it to Marcy. "He sent me a literal winking face emoticon, because he barely knows how to use emojis. How can I be mad at that person?" You laughed to yourself. " _God, I hate him._ " 

* * *

 

 

> **D,**
> 
> **I slept fine, but I miss you too. Work was slow today, but that's probably because I didn't really have to come into the office. I'm going out with Sarah, Julia and everyone else tonight. I'm assuming you're already out with Thomas and Will. I hope you're having fun :)**
> 
> **So, I like the second couch and chairs set and the bed frame that you said was your favorite, but I also can't pick a couch that I've never sat on, so aesthetically, at least, that's the couch I like best. I'm sure you already thought of this, but for the rental furniture, don't forget to pick out patio stuff, if you plan on having the party mostly out in the backyard, which I'm assuming you will with the pool and all.**
> 
> **As to the radio interview, don't worry about it. I'm not mad at all. You didn't do anything wrong, and it was probably bound to happen eventually. Thanks for the heads up though. :) and props on the classic Yanks reference ;)**
> 
> **Oh god... now I'm sending you winking emoticons. You are the worst influence.**
> 
> **Can't wait to see you. Call me when you can, I miss your voice.**
> 
> **As they say in England (no they don't), chip chip cheerio :P**
> 
> **Okay. I'm done.**
> 
> **Please don't break up with my lame ass.**
> 
> **< 3 **

* * *

"Baby, it is so late there, what are you still doing up? Don't you have your last day of press in the morning?"

" _I just got back to the hotel like twenty minutes ago_."

"Are you a little drunk?" You smirked, hearing Dylan slur his words just barely.

" _Definitely more than a little. I had a really good time with Sangster and Will. I told Will that you basically hated him after we saw him in **Detroit**._ "

"Oh, good, tell someone I've never met that I hate him. Thanks for that, D." You said with a playful sarcasm, as you curled up under your covers and held your phone close. 

" _Nah, baby, he was stoked. He was glad that you hated him and his character. It means he did a good job in the movie_."

"Oh okay, good." You laughed, until Dylan spoke again. 

" _I miss you. How was hanging out with Jules and Sarah_?" 

You melted a little every single time Dylan said those words. He didn't have to. Some guys wouldn't, but he told you that he did, every time the two of you talked while he was on this particular trip. "It was fun. We went to the Brass Monkey, and Revel-"

" _Which one is Revel?_ "

"The smaller beer garden that I brought you to, with the retractable roof and that really good pasta."

" _Oh, I liked that place. It was low-key_."

"Me too, but we just sort of barhopped through happy hour, and it was fun. Now, I'm just laying in bed with a bottle of water."

" _I should probably grab one of those_."

"Yea, maybe." You chuckled, as you heard Dylan groan while getting out of his hotel bed. 

" _Your mom gets in tomorrow, right?_ " 

You sighed. "Yea, I'm gonna meet her at Jamaica."

" _And when are you two seeing John Mayer?_ "

"Saturday." You answered.

" _That's_..."

"The twenty-third."

Dylan sighed, a certain melancholy tone taking over his cheery drunkenness. " _I wish I was home. I want to meet her already._ "

"I wish you were too, but it'll happen in time."

Dylan got quiet for a minute, then you heard him grumble something about his laptop. " _Hold on.. okay... wait, stupid hotel wifi....._ " You snickered at him struggling. " _Hush, you can't be cute when I can't kiss you._ "

"Right, I forgot. Sorry." You replied with a sweeter sarcasm. 

" _Okay, I could still come_."

"Were we having phone sex and I just didn't know?" You continued joking. 

Dylan laughed loudly. " _No, although_.."

"Focus, babe. What were you talking about? You could still come where?"

" _To the John Mayer concert_." Dylan said, and you knew he had suddenly put you on speaker phone because you could hear his long fingers tapping away on the keyboard of his laptop.

You laughed, mostly because you thought he was joking. "It's sold out, I think... and also, you'll be back in L.A..."

Dylan tutted. " _Babe_...." He paused longer than he had to. God, he was pretty drunk. It was cute. " _I never pull this card, but I'm kind of a celebrity._ "

"Whaaaaat?" You feigned surprise, eliciting a snort from your boyfriend. 

" _Crazy, I know, and I don't know where I rank on the letter scale of celebritydom, but I might be able to wrangle us backstage passes or at the very least an extra ticket so I can go with you two._ "

"Dyl, you don't-"

" _Do you not want me there? I mean, if this was meant to be like mom and you time, I get th-_ "

You cut him off. "No, no, no, I absolutely want you there. I want you guys to meet and it would be so much more fun if you were there." 

" _Alright, then let me see what I can do. I'll have Mary make some calls in the morning_."

"That would be amazing."

" _Yea_?" Dylan asked.

"Definitely." A comfortable pause filled in. "Babe, what time do you have to be up to start press?"

" _Like four hours.._ "

"Go to sleep."

" _Stay on the phone?_ " Dylan requested, over the sounds of his laptop shutting and bedsheets rustling. 

"Absolutely." You grinned, absolutely smitten with this man.

* * *

"Do you think she likes me?" Dylan whispered in your ear. 

You glanced over at your mother, chatting the ear off of Andy Cohen and Bob Saget by the craft services table, in between sets, and then glanced back at Dylan. You wrapped your arms around his neck, giggling as he shivered when the side of your cold beer hit the exposed skin on the nape of his neck. You tucked yourself up against him, as his hands snaked around your waist, and smiled dreamily. 

"Let me see, you," You began counting on your fingers, which you pulled back in between your bodies. "flew from London to New York for a single day, for no other reason other than to see me and meet her, you managed to get us backstage passes for John Mayer, and you are the reason that she has now met Kelly Rippa. I think it is safe to say that she loves you more than I ever will."

Dylan snickered and leaned down to kiss you. "Okay good. I like her. She's funny."

"You're funny." You said, grinning as you took another large sip of your beer. 

“You’re drunk.” Dylan smirked. 

“Yes, well, I drink because you won’t stop teasing me. I have to cope somehow.” You jutted your lower lip out in an over-exaggerated manner. 

Dylan laughed and shrugged. "I thought you were a nerd about movies, but man, I think I forgot that you can sing and play instruments because the amount of times that you have turned back to me and been like 'Oh my god, that riff-'"

"Are you making fun of me again? I don't have to stand here with you." You tried pulling away, ears perking up when you heard the crowd roar for John Mayer stepping out for his encore. "I can just go stand over there with fucking Bob Saget or whatever."

Dylan grinned and pulled you flush against him, his finger digging into your hips. "No, you have to stand here with me."

You smirked and wrapped your arms back around him, grinding your stomach against his hips and pelvis with a little pressure, enough to make him lick his lips and smirk back at you. "Oh yea, and why's that?"

Dylan leaned down and pressed a heady kiss against your lips, leaving you wanting when he pulled away. "Because if I have to watch you sway your little hips from a distance, I might kill myself."

"Someone hasn't gotten any in a week, huh?"

You teased, although, now the thought was firmly planted in your head as well, and suddenly, you could not wait for the concert to just be over already. Your mom was staying in your room at your and Maddie's apartment, and you decided, for the one night Dylan was back in New York, that the two of you would stay at a hotel instead. You wondered how big the backseat of his rental car was, and if you could just have sex in the parking lot, instead of waiting to get to his hotel in Brooklyn. His hands on your hips, a healthy dose of alcohol, and honestly, just him being there in general had been driving you insane all night. The one perk of him going away for work was definitely always going to be the reunion sex when he came back to you. 

Dylan rolled his lips back into his mouth to keep from openly grinning. "You're killing me right now."

You turned around, wrapping his hands across your stomach and holding yourself flush against his chest. "I know." You grinned smugly. A comfortable silence fell across the two of you for a moment, as the beginnings of one of John's most famous songs floated through the speakers. You leaned your head back and looked up at Dylan with a soft smile. "Thank you for coming to this."

Dylan felt his heart skip a beat, as he stared into your happy y/e/c eyes. He left a soft and promising kiss on your lips. "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

Dylan, a self-proclaimed overly sentimental man, couldn't help but get lost in his thoughts for a moment. The relaxed and bluesy music that overtook the sounds of the waves lapping against the back of the stage, mixed with the scent of your vanilla shampoo and the feeling of your back vibrating against him, as you hummed along with the melody, all set him at ease. He couldn't help but think about how all of the effort and money that went in to changing his schedule and getting him to New York for less than twenty-four hours, just to meet your mom and attend this concert with you, could not have been more worth it. He would sit on dozens of flights and deal with all the jetlag that he had to, as long as his night ended with you gently swaying in his arms, your head relaxed against his chest, and a content smile on your face. 

The stark difference between the last time he had gone away for work and then come back, compared to this time, was night and day. Last time, he was nervous and anxious about your relationship, and worried about whether or not everything would be the same when he returned. Last time, he was keeping secrets. This time he was sure about where his heart was, and he was relieved to be back in your proximity. The nerves and anxiety had melted away.

This time he was only keeping one secret. One that he wasn't fully ready to admit to himself yet. He didn't wan to rush this. The two of you had the privilege of taking your time, letting it all happen naturally, but none of that changed the simple fact that Dylan was falling for you. He could feel it. He was sure of it. Love was in the depths of his heart and on the tip of his tongue. It was only a matter of time. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated on January 9th, 2018.


	14. Dylan's Burbank House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dylan celebrate his 26th birthday in Los Angeles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As we all know, Dylan’s birthday is August 26th, 1991, and this year, he had a party at his brand new house in LA. This is that. Also, the part with the baseball is August 27th, and the photoshoot is August 29th. Cool.
> 
> Also, the first song is 'Duermete' by As Tall As Lions.
> 
> ~~~~~~~
> 
> Updated: January 9th, 2018

" _I'm on fire tonight. I will be alright._ "

You could barely process the sound of the mellow snare hits and melodic singing in the background, over the sounds of Dylan quietly sighing into your kiss. It seemed like every single time his hands touched your bare skin, your brain shut down and your baser instincts took over. It was hard for them not to when his hands were busy gripping your ribs and brushing the sides of your breasts under your shirt. You pushed off the couch and up into his lips every time his mouth reconnected with yours, always craving as much of him as your body could steal. His hips, grinding down into yours at an agonizingly slow pace, kept you pinned below him.

Your body practically vibrated with need, as Dylan's mouth moved down your jaw, trying to restrain himself from sucking dark purple marks into the delicate skin of your neck. His breath was hot and shaky, as he pressed kisses down your chest and over the tops of your breasts. You squirmed underneath him, grinding any part of your body up against the growing hardness in his unbuttoned pants. He licked a long stripe down your stomach, over your belly button, and above the waist of your jeans, being sure to gently tug down the denim fabric to leave long, sucking kisses on your hipbones. 

“So, what does the dress, you’re wearing tonight, look like?”

“ _Why_?” You narrowed your eyes at him. Dylan shrugged with a smirk, before leaving a few more kisses on your stomach. “It’s the pink one with the sweetheart neckline and the ties on the shoulders.”

“ _Right_.. So, I can only leave hickeys on your stomach and boobs,  _got it_.” He grinned mischievously.

“ _No, no, no_.” You yanked his head up by his hair. “No hickeys  _at all_. I’m meeting your parents tonight.” You pulled your shirt back over your stomach and straightened up on the couch slightly, smoothing out your messy hair.

Dylan let out a whine of protest. He was only getting started, the last thing he wanted was to make out with you on his couch for a half hour, just to then have to live with the bluest of balls for the rest of the night. “ _You’ve already met them._ ”

Your face dropped, and you tilted your head to the side, an expression of pure irritation resting behind your eyes. “Like,  _once_.” Dylan held up two fingers, reminding you that you had, in fact, met them twice when you were in college. “ _Whatever_ , it doesn’t matter. I’ve never met them as your  _girlfriend_ , and the last thing I need is to have a hickey from you, the first time I meet them.”

Dylan smiled and leaned back over you to kiss your lips again. You whined into his kiss. You wanted more just as much as he did. You calculated the time in your head. Quickies with Dylan were probably your least favorite thing in the world. You liked to savor the moments where the two of you were together intimately.

He pulled away to begin kissing down your neck again. “ _That’s_  why I said I would only leave them in places they won’t see. Come on, do you know how hot it would be for me to know that you’re walking around all night with marks that I left all over your body.”

The thought sent a shiver down your spine. The coldest shower in the history of modern bathing was what you would need after the last forty minutes. You didn’t have enough time to get everything done, on top of sex and hickeys, though, and someone needed to be the adult. It was unfortunate that it had to be you.

“ _Okay_ , okay,  _off_. Get off.”

“ _Noooo_.” Dylan whined again, and buried his face into your neck, pressing you down against the couch underneath him.

“Baby, you’re killing me.”

“I can be quick.”

You laughed quietly and began leaving soft kisses into his even softer, wavy hair. “I know you can be when you want to be, but think of how much I’ll be wanting you all night if you make me wait.”

“Okay,  _that’s a good point_ , you get very aggressive and  _bendy_  when you have to wait, but  _I_  don’t want to wait.” Dylan argued, finally popping his head up to look at you.

You laughed and shook your head at your impatient boyfriend. “Sorry, handsome. People will be here in an hour, we both need to shower, and get ready, and I need to not have my chin be red with your stubble burn.”

Dylan’s cheekbones jutted out above the massive grin that broke out on his face, as he rubbed his thumb against the red marks on your skin. “Your chin and neck are really red actually.”

“ _Oh good_. Get off.” You pushed him back on the couch, and managed to wriggle yourself up from underneath him. You thought of something, as he whined on the couch, huffing and dramatically falling backwards against the cushions. “I still have to give you your birthday presents too.”

“Do you wanna do that before people get here?” He quirked an eye up, as he watched you approach his computer to shut ’ _Redbone_ ’ by Childish Gambino off, in the middle of the song.

“I think, shower first,  _then_  presents?” Dylan nodded, got off the couch, and began to follow you to the master bath.

* * *

You rubbed the towel through your y/h/c strands one last time, then hung it on the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Dylan glanced up from his bed, laptop open in front of him, at you walking back into his room, in your pink summer dress, bare feet, light make up, and wet messy hair.

“You look beautiful.” He smiled.

You shot him a smile and skipped over to leave him a kiss. You glanced at his screen. “Mets game start yet?”

Dylan shook his head. “Not yet, but I figured out how to use the hotspot on my phone so I can watch it on my computer. I literally cannot wait for the cable and wireless guys to get here tomorrow. We’ll watch Thrones and the game and not leave this bed all day. That’s what I want for my birthday.” He said, arms still hooked around your waist.

You smiled. You liked the thought of that too. “Does that mean, you don’t want your  _actual_  birthday presents then? Cause I can just return those…  _if you want_ ….”

Dylan laughed and shook his head, releasing his hold on you. “No, no, I want my presents. Bring it on, woman.”

You trotted over to your suitcase, grabbing the wrapped boxes and a pair of socks from the top. “ _Catch_.” You threw the balled up pair at your boyfriend, with unfortunate aim. He dove across the bed to grab them.

“ _Holy shit_. Where the fuck did you find these? I thought they stopped making them!”

“I got a guy.” You teased, walking over to sit across from him on the mattress, already peeling his own socks off to replace them with yours. “Only  _you_  would get this excited about a pair of  _socks_.”

The grin on Dylan’s face was laughable. “You don’t understand, these are the best brand of socks ever. I love these fucking socks.” He wiggled his covered toes in front of you.

You felt warm over how easy it was to please him. “Well, I bought like eight more pairs, but left them in New York, so you can get the rest when we go home.”

Dylan leaned over the bed, shutting his laptop, and pressed his lips against yours. “Oh, baby, you’re the literal best.”

“Maybe I should’ve given you the socks last…” You glanced down at the other two wrapped items in your hands, and pretended to grimace.

“No, no… Which should I do next?”

You handed him the smaller box, and began explaining as he unwrapped the Mets birthday wrapping that you went down to Citifield, specially, to pick up. “Now, I know you’re kind of known for your old ones, but I thought you could use a different pair, just to shake things up.”

“Oh holy shit.  _Holy shit_ , Y/n, are you fucking….” Dylan pounced at you to give you another kiss. You laughed, as he pulled away just as quickly to pull his brand new gray and white Adidas sneakers out of the shoe box. “Oh my god, they’re so dope. _These are great_. I’m gonna wear them all the time.”

“And hopefully,  _the best for last._..”

Dylan took the long and thin box from your hands, and shook his head, a permanent smile plastered on his face. “I can’t believe you got me so much, baby. You really shouldn’t have.”

You shrugged. “I may not be able to top myself come Christmas, but I couldn’t really help myself. This was originally what I got you, the shoes and socks I actually happened upon in a store and I just had to.”

“ **Holy**.  **Fuck**.” Dylan annunciated each word, as his mouth hung open. “ _I can’t_ … Holy shit.” He couldn’t stop glancing between the gift in his hands and your beaming face.

“So, on like our second date, you told me that when you were kids, Julia accidentally melted your Obi-Wan Kenobi, original blue lightsaber that he had when he was a Jedi Master.”

Dylan interrupted you. “ _Holy shit_ …”

“It took a lot of digging and one  _weirdly_  intense E-Bay bidding war with some loser in Iowa, but I got it, and I made Julia promise that she is not to go anywhere near a stove with this thing.”

“She’s not allowed within ten feet of this thing, let alone into a kitchen with it, ever again.” Dylan laughed, trying to pull the toy out of the packaging. “I cannot  _believe_ -” He paused, and you grinned even harder. “ _Wait_ … what are  _these_?” He glanced down at the tickets in his hand and then threw everything to the side of his bed, that the two of you were not on, before pinning you down to the mattress. “ _Y/n, what the fuck_.” He pressed his lips against yours with enthusiasm and you could feel his excitement. “ _Baby_ , you spent too much. I can’t believe you did this.”

“ _Okay, well_ ,” You pushed his damp hair off his forehead and smiled up at him, finally hooking your hands around his neck. “this last one was super last minute and took a lot of finagling but it’s from Julia and I, so make sure to thank her….  _and Mary_.”

“Mary?”

You sat up from underneath him and grabbed the tickets off the bed. “Okay, so the moment you told me that you got the part in ’ _The Affair_ ’, and you would be in New York in late September, I started putting it together with Jules. They’re for the last two home games of the season. The Mets are playing the Braves. The first game, we got two tickets, so you and your Dad will go-”

“ _ **What**_?” Dylan’s eyes widened and his mouth curled up even more at the corners.

You nodded. “Mary confirmed with the producers, or whoever is in charge of your work schedule on the show, that you will be able to make it to both of these games, so that’s good.”

“ _Oh my god._ ” Dylan seemed to be in a state of happy shock, glancing between the tickets in his hand and you, now hovering above him.

“Then Jules and I talked to your parents, and part of  _their_  birthday present to you is that they are going to fly out to visit that week in September, before you really start shooting and can’t really go out to L.A. until like Thanksgiving or something.” Dylan’s hand curled around your leg and he pressed a warm kiss against your knee. You handed him the other five tickets. “The next night, Jules and I got five on the lower deck, right behind the Mets dugout, and we thought that could be you, me, Jules and your parents.”

“ _Babe_ … I don’t even know what to say.” Suddenly, Dylan’s smile faded slightly. “I can’t-  _This must’ve cost a ton_. I can’t let you pay for all this.”

You shrugged with a smirk. “It’s already done. Nothing you can do about it. Just enjoy it.”

He let out a sigh and nuzzled his nose against your leg, closing his eyes at the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. “This is the best birthday present..  _presents_ , I’ve ever gotten. I can’t..  _Thank you, baby_.”

Your brain lit up with ’ _It was easy cause I love you_.’ and then you went blank, forgetting all other words in the English language. It was way, way, way too soon for those words. You felt a blush rising to your cheeks, so instead of saying anything at all, you simply leaned down and kissed him. Dylan tossed the tickets onto the floor and pulled you down on top of him, gently swiping his tongue against your lips, waiting for you to let him deepen the kiss the two of you were locked into. You did and then sighed as his tongue swirled around yours, knowing every inch of your mouth by now. He gracefully flipped you onto your back and laid on top of you, his mouth still attached to yours, but his hands working their way up your thighs.

You groaned loudly when the doorbell rang, and Dylan shoved his face into the mattress beside your head.

* * *

“I just can’t even believe that you know people who know Anthony Raneri, like, I don’t think you even understand how much it’s my dream to just, like, jam or even just chill with the dudes from Bayside. That would honestly be so dope, like so fucking dope.”

You chuckled and swallowed the sip of beer in your mouth. “I just think it’s so funny that you’re like…. I don’t know,  _you’re a celebrity_ , so, like, I think it’s so funny to see  _you_  nerding out over another famous person.. Although,  _can you even call Anthony Raneri famous?_ ” You asked. “Arguably, tons more people know who Tyler Posey is than who know who Anthony Raneri is.”

Posey chuckled and shook his head, taking a sip from his own beer bottle, as you both sat with your legs dangling over the side of Dylan’s pool. “I mean, just cause I’m famous doesn’t mean I don’t freak the fuck out over other celebrities still, I mean, _have you seen Dylan O'Brien? He’s so dreamy and such a good actor._ ” Posey grinned facetiously and you laughed out loud, kicking your feet back and forth through the water. Posey quieted his own chuckles, in order to speak again. “Haven’t you heard Dyl geek out about some other celebrity though? I feel like it’s not that weird.”

You shook your head. “No, no, it’s not weird, it’s just funny. I think  _us common folk,_ ” You said with wide eyes and a playful snicker. “just think that once you’re a celebrity,  _you’re a celebrity_ … I don’t know how to explain it.”

“No, I get what you mean.” Posey nodded.

“Plus, Dylan doesn’t so much freak out over movie stars, as he does baseball players. Did he tell you that he literally threw up from excitement and nervousness when he got off the phone with the Mets outreach team and found out he was going to throw out the first pitch? Like, he threw his phone on my bed, ran into my bathroom and just yakked.”

Posey began laughing and tipped the top half of his body towards the pool. “Yep, yep, yep, that fucking sounds like him. He’s hella obsessed with the Mets. I swear, I never watched or knew more about baseball than when we lived together.”

You nodded and took another sip of your drink, suddenly curious where the man of the hour had gone off to. You looked around your shoulders and spotted him off in a corner, shoving a taco in his mouth and laughing with some friends from high school.

“So, how do you think it went with Pat and Lisa?” Posey asked, garnering your attention back to the conversation that the two of you had been having for the past twenty minutes or so.

You smiled and sighed heavily. “ _Good_? I think… I don’t know. Dylan kept ragging on me because I have technically met them a couple of times when I was in Boston with Julia, but-”

Posey cut you off. “Oh, hell no, nah, nah, that doesn’t count. You were just one of Julia’s friends then, not Dylan’s girlfriend. Totally different. The stakes are so much higher.”

You lifted your hand up, gesturing towards Tyler, in agreement. “ ** _THAT’S WHAT I SAID!_** ” You yelled, not garnering much attention over the loud music and multiple conversations that created a rowdy atmosphere throughout the backyard and living room of Dylan’s new home. You bobbed your head from side to side. “I think it went well though. I argued with Mr. O'Brien about Mets versus the Yankees a little, and jesus, is Dylan not just like an exact copy of his dad.”

Posey chuckled and nodded. “Hilarious, right?”

You nodded in agreement. “Totally.”

Posey gently paddled his feet back and forth through the water, as he took a sip of his beer. “Well, I’m glad that you think it went well.”

You nodded again, and sighed softly. “I do think it went well.” You paused, then connected your eyes with his once more. “I don’t know… I think it helps that Julia is my friend already and they already met me. I imagine it must’ve been easy for them to like Britt just cause they never had to worry if she was using him for fame or was just getting close to him because of his money or something-”

Posey quirked his eyebrows up once, and then cut you off. “Yea, well, now I think it’ll just be whether or not someone’s going to cheat on their son.” He stared at you as if he had asked a question.

You quickly shook your head. “I would never. I promise. My dad and mom…” You trailed off for a moment, before you sent Posey a lopsided smile. “I wouldn’t ever cheat on Dylan. You don’t have to worry.”

Tyler returned your smile and nodded, feeling reassured by your promise. “So, what else did you talk to them about?”

You smiled in relief for the change of subject. “I talked to them about New York and what I’ve been doing since graduation and what Dylan, Julia and I have been doing this summer; stuff like that. I asked about his grandma.”

Posey interjected. “Oh, Gram O'Brien always gets you extra points with Pat.”

You smiled and snickered. “That’s what Dylan said.”

“ _What’d I say?_ ” Dylan’s voice sounded in your ear and made you jump. He snickered, and pressed a sloppy kiss on your cheek, before sitting down in between his best friend and his girlfriend. “Sorry, babe. What were you guys talking about?”

“Music and stuff. Your girlfriend has dope taste in music, bro.”

“Yo, I know, bro.” Dylan pretended to punch and jab at Posey for a minute, and the two of them faux-boxed until Posey almost pushed Dylan into the filled up pool below.

“I’m gonna go find Colton and Hoech and get a refill, you guys want fresh ones?” Posey asked, shaking his empty beer bottle back and forth in his hand, as he got up to his feet. You and Dylan shook your heads and watched him walk away.

Dylan pressed a quick kiss on your shoulder and then took your hand in his. “My dad is obsessed with the fact that you fought with him about baseball, and now he can’t wait to go to the Mets game with us next month, and my mom thinks you’re the most polite person she’s ever met.” He admitted with a massive, drunken grin.

“So, I did okay?”

Dylan nodded with a squinting smirk on his face. “You did great, baby. I told you that you would.” You sighed in relief and took a large sip of your beer, causing Dylan to chuckle softly at how tense you’d been about this day. “And Posey is clearly in love with you. He never used to talk to Britt this much. I may have to be concerned that he’s trying to jack you from me.”

You clicked your tongue against your teeth and sucked in air, pretending to be giving him bad news. “I hate to do this to you on your birthday,  _but_ ,” You paused to grimace dramatically. “ _I really prefer a crooked jaw over these moles_.” You pointed to the trio under his left ear, before shrugging.

Dylan began laughing, as he put his beer bottle down on the cement next to him. “ _Oh, jokes, huh?_  You got jokes?” You grinned and nodded, pleased with yourself for making him crack up. “I’ll  _show_ you jokes.” He pulled the bottle from your hand and placed it next to his. “You don’t have your phone on you, right?”

“It’s on the table, why?” You looked at him, confused as to why he had suddenly changed the subject. Until… “ _Dylan_ …  **NO**!" 

He grabbed your waist, and then pulled the both of you into his swimming pool, a small splash resulting from the short drop of your bodies. Your head made it above the water line, and you were about to splash him with water, when you saw someone else running full speed, to jump in to the pool. You squealed when Dylan pulled you close and shielded the top of your head, as several other people joined in on the watery fun.

He pulled you back towards the shallow end and the steps, chuckling over how it took a few seconds before your feet touched the pool floor again. "I’m sorry, baby.”

“I feel like you aren’t actually, but whatever.” You pretended to be annoyed at him, but the smirk on your face did nothing to convince anyone.

“Come help me grab towels for everyone and then you and I can get changed?” You nodded and smiled, as you helped him bring pool towels out for the guests that jumped in the water with the two of you, then followed him, as he led you by your hand, into his bedroom, where your clothes were. “Do you have something else to wear?” He asked, suddenly feeling slightly bad for dumping you into the pool, fully clothed.

You nodded, as you crouched next to your suitcase on the floor of his room, digging through your clothes for your backup outfit for the evening. You tossed the new clothes on his bed and stood up fully, turning to see Dylan stripped down to his soaking wet boxer briefs. He caught you shiver and pull the towel tighter around your body, as you walked towards the bed.

“Oh shit, baby, I’m sorry. I have the air conditioning turned up because there are so many people in the house.” He walked over and ran his hands up and down your arms, on the outside of the towel, in an attempt to warm you up.

You shook your head with a smile, before simply pushing your cold and wet body against his. Dylan wrapped his arms around you and happily pressed kisses into your crown. “Don’t be sorry for having fun. You  _are_  having fun, right?” You glanced up at him, eyebrows raised in slight concern.

Dylan grinned and then pressed his pink lips against yours. “I’m having the best birthday ever.” The smile returned to your face, as he stared down at you with a content look on his face. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m glad my parents love you and Posey loves you,” Dylan paused to lean back for emphasis. “and oh my god, holy shit, Kaya and Sangster  ** _LOVE_**  you.” You beamed up at him, excited to hear that you were being welcomed into his massive group of friends. “You got me the dopest cakes ever. I’m pretty sure I ate every M&M on the big one.” You snickered and shook your head, and Dylan continued gushing over you. It made your heart beat double time. “And, baby, regardless of how truly fucking amazing your gifts were, all I wanted for my birthday was for,” Dylan began listing off on his fingers. “the Mets to win…” He paused and grimaced. “Okay, so I guess you can’t get everything you want always, but they play again tomorrow so-”

“Fingers crossed.” You smiled up at him, and he returned the gesture ten fold, a toothy grin beaming back at you.

“I wanted to watch the Mets play, and I got to do that. I wanted to eat chicken tacos, and arguably, I ate too many, so check that off the list.” You snickered and held out your thumb and pointer finger, in between your bodies, taking over his counting duties for him. “I wanted to see my friends-”

“ _Check_.” Your middle finger joined your first two digits.

“I wanted my parents to like you…  _Lift that fourth finger, babe, cause they love you_.” You grinned and dug your forehead against his bare chest instead, bashful and embarrassed, but over the moon happy about his parents liking you. Dylan dropped into a whisper, and spoke against the top of your head. “Most importantly,  _I just wanted to spend the day with you_ , and I did, so I’m the happiest guy alive right now.”

You cooed gently and buried your face further against his chest, leaving soft kisses against his cool skin, while Dylan hugged you tighter. He pressed a succession of kisses against the top of your head and then smiled, as you pressed a few more kisses on his chest. His heart swelled and the word that flooded his brain was ’ _love_ ’. He sighed quietly, not letting there be a change in his demeanor, as he continued holding you, gently rocking your bodies back and forth. It was still too soon to be verbalizing what he knew the feeling in his chest was, but he was comforted by the fact that it didn’t frighten him to be feeling it again.  _He considered it to be his best birthday gift of all_.

* * *

The next day, you and Dylan woke up early to get to the park before the pick up baseball game that had been thrown together and decided upon, during his party the night before, began. He had played a handful of times with his childhood friends, back in New York, during the weekends when you two would avoid each other so that Julia wouldn’t find out about you sneaking around behind her back, but Dylan quickly learned that you had regrettable skills when it came to throwing a ball. There were several playful arguments about how it was even possible that you were such a big baseball fan, but you had never actually hit a baseball. You countered with the fact that one doesn’t actually have to play baseball to be a fan. Dylan then would tease you endlessly about how you were allegedly athletic, to a point, growing up, but had the worst aim of anyone he had ever met.

“ ** _I PLAYED SOCCER AS A KID, ASSHAT. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU. MY FOOT AIM IS SUPERB._** ” You yelled with a smirk on your face.

Dylan doubled over with laughter. “ _Foot_ …..” He could hardly contain himself, as the soft snorts began to accompany his uncontrollable giggles. “ _Foot aim?_  What even is that? Oh my god.” He told you that you were cute, and then went back to laughing for the next two minutes. He would bring up the ’ _foot aim_ ’ joke whenever you’d stumble or yell at the baseball players on TV for not being fast enough. You were always able to laugh at yourself, but you made sure to roll your eyes at him every time, just to keep up appearances.

You didn’t end up playing baseball with him, that morning, instead, opting to watch from the stands with Julia, Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien, Holland Roden, and a few other people you recognized from the party, the night before. You loved watching Dylan in his element, with Hoechlin and Ian Bohen, and his other friends from Los Angeles and New York, who were in town specifically for his birthday party. You enjoyed the massive grin on his face, throughout all seven innings of play.

He took you out for Salsa and Beer for lunch, after the game, and then, as promised, spent the rest of the day, in bed with you, watching the Mets beat the Nationals, on his laptop, as the cable guy set up his new wifi. After the cable guy left, and the game was over, you remained in bed, finally finishing the sixth season of Game of Thrones.

* * *

You had been curled up under the sheets, on Dylan’s bed, scrolling through your work emails and Twitter, since you woke up. Your head turned when you heard the sound of his damp, bare feet padding against the hardwood floor of his bedroom.

“ _Are you fucking serious?_ ” You mumbled quietly to yourself, as you sat up slightly in bed, to stare at his muscular, dripping wet back.

Dylan was standing in front of his suitcase, pushing his clothes around, carelessly, with his toes. You heard him sigh, before he walked over to his dresser, and began digging through the clothes you had unpacked from his apartment into the drawers. You never knew him to take this long to get dressed, and you thought about interrupting him to see if he wanted help, but you couldn’t peel your eyes off of how low his towel hung on his hips. You could tell that he was zoned out, as he mindlessly stared around his new bedroom, while massaging his scalp and pulling at his wet hair. You drunk in the sight of his muscles and how they moved under his skin, and couldn’t help but be incredibly turned on by the gorgeous man in front of you. You smirked because you liked the fact that he was doing nothing but standing in a towel, and yet, you were filled with lust for him.

You couldn’t really take it anymore, so you finally broke the comfortable silence in the room. “ _Do you_ …” Dylan’s head whipped around, to see your face scrunched up with amusement and desire. “I know you have the whole ’ _humble_ ’ thing going for you, and I totally believe it, like, I totally get it, and get that maybe girls weren’t coming on to you in high school or people thought you were awkward or whatever. I get it…” You paused and cocked your head to the left, clearly eyeing him. A subtle smirk began to spread across Dylan’s mouth, as he watched you, watching him. “but like…  _you_ …” You finally connected with his stunning amber eyes. “You’re aware that you’re like devastatingly sexy,  _right_? You have to know that.”

Dylan scrunched his face, bemusedly, and let out a nervous chuckle. “What are you even talking about?”

You gestured towards him, as you remained sitting up against the headboard and pillows. “You’re just like standing here, all, like, dripping wet and steamy and sexy and bulky and-”

Dylan sighed, and slouched his shoulders forward slightly, the amusement slowly draining from his face. “ _Is this a Mitch joke, cause I am so not in_ -”

You cut him off. “No.. this is a  _my incredibly hot boyfriend, Dylan, has a towel wrapped unnecessarily, very weirdly.. possibly purposefully?_ ” You quirked your head to the side. “ _low on his hips and he’s thick as fuck because of American Assassin and his hair maybe somehow looks even better when it’s wet and suddenly I think I might be less girlfriend and more fangirl_ -”

Dylan huffed out a chuckle and shook his head, the smile not completely gone from his face, but not as prominent as it should’ve been. “ _You’re something, alright_ …”

He began to turn back around to his dresser when you spoke. You were too clouded by your desire for him to realize that when he was staring, aimlessly, into his wardrobe, and not saying anything to you, that you should’ve known something was not right five minutes earlier. “What’s wrong?” You sat up straighter in bed, and jut your head out towards him, letting him know that you were listening.

“ _Nothing_.” He shook his head, and walked back towards his suitcase on the floor.

You hesitated for a moment. “…Did I make you uncomfortable?”

Dylan laughed, shook his head and walked back towards his dresser again. “You made me a little  _hard_ , but not uncomfortable.”

Your eyebrows twitched up at his response. Now you were confused. You watched him put deodorant on and begin to run a comb through his drying hair, still in nothing but his towel. You didn’t really know what to say. You didn’t want to push him, and you felt like he was brushing you off slightly. You began to worry that he was second guessing things. That you both took this serious step of meeting parents and friends and spending milestones together, and maybe he was missing what was. Doubt had been coming with greater ease more recently, since he told you about his meeting with Britt the month before.

Dylan finally turned, and saw that you were the one that was zoned out now. He frowned slightly, then sighed.

You looked up when you heard the loud exhale come from him and you connected your eyes with his again. “What’s wrong, Dyl?” You repeated yourself, softer this time. “I can tell something is wrong.”

Dylan knelt on the foot of the bed and sighed again, his shoulders hunched forward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Deep down, you liked that he could tell what you were feeling without you having to say anything. “It’s stupid and that’s why I didn’t say anything, but…” Dylan paused and collapsed forward on to the bed, wrapping his fingers around your covered ankles and shoving his face into the blankets. “ _I fucking hate photoshoots_ , especially when it’s just me and they’re meant to be kind of serious.” He mumbled, but you heard him.

You sighed, softly; relieved to know it had nothing to do with you. “Is that what today’s is?”

Dylan nodded, then crawled forward a little more, picking his nose up from the sheets so that he could look at you. “It’s for  _USA Today_ , and I just, like, don’t want to do the interview, and I especially don’t want to do the photoshoot, and it’s supposed to be ’ _casual_ ’ so they told me I could wear whatever I wanted but, like, now that means I have to fucking pick out something of my own and,” Dylan sighed, and rolled over onto his back, his towel parting slightly on his thigh. “I just don’t want to do anything today but stay right here,” He patted both his hands against his mattress. “with no one taking pictures of me and no one asking me about the accident.”

You cupped your hand against his cheek, and he glanced from the ceiling to your sympathetic face. He sent you a lopsided smile. Your face always cheered him up, even if it was just a little.

“I just want to lay in bed with you all day and start season seven of Thrones and…” Dylan smirked. “ _do something about how hard you made me before_.” You snickered and the smile on his face grew, as your hands began to run, from his neck and shoulders, down his chest. “ _And maybe take a nap_?” You snickered at how genuinely sweet and innocent he suddenly sounded. You just adored him. “I feel like we haven’t slowed down much since we’ve been here or, maybe, I just haven’t slowed down much since almost two weeks ago and literally all I fucking want is to lay in this bed and have your fingers in my hair and I want to sleep for a few hours.”

You were still new to this, but you were pretty sure that you knew the answer to the question you were about to ask. “Can you cancel?” Dylan shook his head, then began rubbing his hand up and down your left forearm, before he turned to press a long kiss against the inside of your wrist. “I figured.” You continued. “It’s the only thing you have to do today, though, right?”

Dylan nodded, and stared up at your familiar face. “Yea, and you can still come with me, right?”

You smirked. “Well, my better offer fell through, so.” Dylan rolled his eyes and you chuckled, before your voice grew genuine again. “Absolutely, I’m still coming with you. I wouldn’t leave you alone when you asked me to go.”

Dylan exhaled softly through his nose, closed his eyes, and smiled. He laid there, enjoying the way that the tips of your fingers gently kneaded into the tense muscles in his shoulders and chest. He leaned his head against your arm and you paused, when you saw his beautiful whiskey-colored eyes connect with yours. “Sometimes, I’m not sure how I got by before, without you.” Your heart did a tiny somersault in your chest, and you pulled one of your hands off of his pec, to rest on his warm cheek. “You’re so good to me, and god,” Dylan let out something between a huff and chuckle. “ _I like you so much it hurts sometimes._ ” He clutched his chest lightly.

Your heart swelled up ten times its normal size, or at least, that’s what it felt like. You exhaled heavily and smiled down at him. His words made you feel very serious and heavy hearted, suddenly. You rubbed your thumb against his cheekbone, as you replied. “I like you so much, too, Dyl." 

You sighed, when you felt his hand rub up and down your arm again. You needed more contact. You needed to feel grounded by him. This was one of those moments where you needed to make sure it was all real. You just wanted to touch him. 

” _Baby_..“ Dylan hummed, a more peaceful and content look on his face. "How long until we have to leave to go to this thing?”

“A little under an hour and a half until we have to leave.”

“Can you get under the covers with me, please?” His eyes snapped open at your request, and he slowly nodded.

Dylan did what you asked, his towel a little looser around his hips, as he climbed over the bed and snuggled under the covers with you. You leaned down, still sitting up next to his reclined body, and pressed a soft kiss against his lips, before you pulled away and peeled his t-shirt, that you slept in, off your body. Dylan couldn’t help but smile, at your suddenly bare skin, but he had no idea what was going on. He wanted to make love to you, so badly, but he knew he wouldn’t have enough time.

“What are you doing?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Take off your towel.” You demanded, as you shimmied out of your underwear and, suddenly, all items of clothing and his towel, were on the floor, next to the bed. You snuggled up next to Dylan, pulling the blankets over both of your shoulders, and you smiled up at him, as your hands connected with his stomach and chest, and grounded you again.

“ _You okay?_ ” His eyebrow quirked up, as his hands roamed around your soft, bare skin.

You nodded and buried your nose into his chest hair. You heard him yawn and you smirked. “I just wanted to…  _I don’t know, be close or something._ ”

Dylan pressed a series of kisses against the top of your head, then yawned again. It was still very early in the morning. “I get it.” His arms tugged you even closer against him, and you relished in the skin-on-skin contact.

“Can you grab my phone?” Dylan reached over you and picked your iPhone up, then handed it to you. “ _I…_ ” You tapped the screen of your phone, then threw it back behind you, on the mattress. “set an alarm for forty-five minutes from now, and I’m gonna go back to sleep until then.”

Dylan smiled and buried his cheek against yours, adjusting against your body, until you were both in the positions you wanted to be in. “You’re wonderful.” He whispered, but those three words that had been rattling around in the back of his brain, came to the forefront again.

“Sleep, handsome.” You cooed.

* * *

Dylan groaned when your alarm went off, and rolled you on top of him, not wanting to relinquish the feeling of your warm, soft skin pressed against his just yet. He laid on his back, and smiled, as you stroked his dry hair. “How bad is it?” He asked and you snickered.

“It dried a little….actually..   _very flat on the right side_. I think you’re gonna need some gel or something.”

Dylan groaned again, but finished it off with a chuckle. “Alright, back to staring at my fucking clothes again.” His eyes widened playfully.

You pressed your hands against his shoulders and he stilled. “I can pick something out for you?”

The corner of his mouth twitched up, and he licked his lips. Those damn three words sneaking their way to the forefront of his thoughts again. He adored how effortless you made his life. Dylan nodded. “I did want to wear the shoes you got me though.”

You nodded once, and rolled off of him, popping up to your feet. You grabbed his towel off the floor, and hung it on the door knob to his bathroom. Dylan admired your naked body roaming around his room, looking for something for the both of you to wear, and he felt warm over the fact that you felt comfortable enough around him to simply be naked. He also felt a little hard, but that was leftover from when you were pressed up against him too.

“Okay,” You said, as you closed the second drawer in his dresser. “how’s this?”

Dylan glanced at the light, black sweater and bluish-gray pants that you held up in your hands and he smiled. “If you think it looks good, then I think it looks good.”

* * *

The interview was uneventful. You sat a couple of tables away, with Mary, his publicist and manager, and listened as Dylan answered the same questions about the movie and his accident and his career going forward. He seemed relaxed though, not necessarily like he was having fun, but at least comfortable. They began taking pictures of him, on the patio of the hotel, before they took him inside to set him up in front of a backdrop. Somewhere around the middle of the shoot, the photographer stopped and pointed out that Dylan had a very visible hair stuck to the front of his sweater.

He glanced down, and then looked for you, in the back of the dark room, then began snickering when he saw your grin. "I swear to god, she plants them." He chuckled. "My bad," He waved apologetically to the photographer, before he pulled the hair off and dropped it to the floor. "Sorry, my girlfriend," He pointed towards you, and the handful of people in the room all turned to look. "sheds like crazy. I swear, there is always at least one of her hairs on me." He chuckled. "Alright, let's do this." He clapped his hands together, and seemed to relax and enjoy himself a little more. 

You stood in the background, stunned, at what he had just said, in a room full of reporters and photographers, and industry people. It made you smile and feel warm inside. It made you less insecure because he talked about his girlfriend and pointed to you, and you were clearly not Britt, so he was getting the word out there, finally, in the way that he felt he could get away with, that he was taken by you.

* * *

The only thing on his schedule that day, wrapped up, and the two of you returned to his home. You grinned from ear-to-ear the rest of the day, as you and Dylan did exactly what he wanted. The two of you grabbed In-N-Out, argued about Smokeshacks versus Animal-style Double Double’s, and watched the aired episodes of the seventh season of Game of Thrones. Dylan finally got to do something about how turned on you had gotten him that morning, and the two of you finished the night by eating the leftover tacos from his birthday.

The next morning, you packed your bags and headed back to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Dylan and Julia were playing with their toy lightsabers and their mom called them in for lunch, something like stovetop Kraft Mac & Cheese, and Julia had his lightsaber, and she like put it down on the stove or the hot burner or something when their mom was like “enough, time for lunch.” and that’s the story of how his lightsaber melted back in 2004. That story will make zero sense until you read this chapter.


	15. Studio 57, CBS Broadcast Center

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dylan had returned to New York almost a week prior, and had spent the last good weekend of summer out in Montauk with Julia and all of your college friends, enjoying the last bits of the summer season with the beachhouse. 
> 
> On September 5th, it was back to work for Dylan. He had a full morning of press, including CBS This Morning, MLB Central, CBS Sports Radio with Tiki and Tierney, an MTV interview, and a few podcasts. 
> 
> The main event of the day, however, was Dylan throwing out the first pitch at the Mets-Phillies game, that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Lots of talk of baseball, and Dylan’s verbal ticks.

“You really don’t give any shits anymore, do you?” You asked with a toothy grin as Dylan and Taylor walked off of the sound stage, after completing their interview on  _CBS This Morning_.

Dylan wrapped his long fingers around your hip bone as you handed him his to-go coffee cup, and the two of you began following his manager out to the car. He took a sip from the cup and cocked his head slightly to the side, not understanding what you were alluding to. “What do you mean?”

You turned around to glance at him, as he walked closely behind you, his hand resting on the small of your back. “That comment about the accident… ’ _Did you have that information or did you not?_ ’” You grinned and shook your head, as Dylan let out a loud chortle, before finally just covering his mouth with his wrist.

You could see his wide and bright smile behind his veiny arm and it made you smile. “Yeah yeah yeah,  _uh_ …” Dylan laughed again. “I  _may_  be fresh out of fucks to give after this press tour,  _especially_ since I’m going to have to talk about it a  _ton,_  in January for Death Cure. It’s gonna be  _greeeeeeee_ -at.”

Suddenly, the stage door opened and the crisp Fall air was filled with the expectant sounds of excited fans. Taylor was already outside signing autographs, but the screams grew even louder, as soon as Dylan stepped out of the doorway and into the bright, morning light. You felt the pressure of his hand against the back of your jean jacket cease to exist, and you paused for a moment to watch him stop to sign autographs and take pictures with his waiting fans. You followed his manager to the black SUV waiting to whisk him off to his next press event.

After a few minutes, Dylan stepped into the car and climbed into the backseat with you, and the car was swiftly on its way. Dylan leaned over, cupping your hand in his, and pulled your balled up fingers up to his lips, where he then left a flurry of short and sweet kisses on your digits. You looked over at him with a spreading smile and shook your head. He scooted closer to you on the bench-seat and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you tightly against the side of his chest. You rested your hand on his thigh and he rested his scruffy cheek against the top of your head.

 _This was bliss_.

* * *

You watched the absolute joy and giddiness that exuded from Dylan, as he sat on the red couch in the  _MLB Central_  studio talking to Matt Vasgersian, Lauren Shehadi, Mark DeRosa and Cliff Floyd about his movie, career and, most importantly to Dylan,  _baseball_. 

 _This_  was the interview that he had been most excited about all day. He couldn’t wait. You could tell that Dylan wanted to stop talking about the movie, and start talking about the Mets, and not only because he had said as much in the beginning of the interview. You stood in the back of the studio with Mary, smothering the grin on your face, as you watched your boyfriend.

Matt Vasgersian finally steered the conversation towards the Mets, and Dylan perked up. “You’re a New Yorker at heart, you live in L.A., but the Mets are your thing. Were you ever a Yankee fan as a kid?”

Dylan was quick to disagree and you couldn’t help but quietly snicker and roll your eyes. “No, no, no, I mean, like, the 90’s Yankees were fun to watch. You know, I mean, I was a huge Derek Jeter, obviously, Paul O'Neill, those guys were- Tino Martinez, that was a great team,  _absolutely_ , but you know,  _Mets always had my heart_.” Dylan paused to take a quick breath and then suddenly grinned. “My girlfriend though,  _actually_ , is a  _massive_  Yankees fan-”

Cliff Floyd shook his head and laughed. “Dump her, man.”

Dylan laughed loudly and shook his head while grinning. “I mean, honestly, I only even just thought of Tino Martinez instead of someone like..  _Andy Pettitte or David Cone_ , because she told me the other day, that when she was in fourth grade, she had the  _biggest crush_  on Tino Martinez and I was just like, ’ _You aren’t helping my hatred of the Yankees, babe_.’”

The group on the couch laughed and Dylan smirked because he saw your face buried in your hand. He knew he had embarrassed you. “So, does this lead to a lot of fights?” Lauren finally asked with a chuckle.

Mark interjected before Dylan could answer. “Yea, this sounds like more trouble than it’s worth for you.”

Dylan snickered and tousled his hair to the side, off his forehead. “No, no, no,  _I mean_ , we got through our first Subway Series without breaking up or killing each other, and we actually even got to go to the first game of the series, at Yankee Stadium, where the Mets lost and we were okay-”

“ _After a few days_ …” Mark joked.

Dylan cackled and nodded, pulling the sleeves to his navy blue henley up his forearms. “Yea, yea, exactly. I was just like, ’ _This sucks. I need a break_.’” Dylan shook his head. “No,  _nah_ , she’s a, uh, she’s just genuinely into baseball, in general, and as long as I’m not a Red Sox fan and as long as she isn’t a Phillies fan, I think we’ll be okay.”

Lauren laughed and pivoted the interview to her next question. “Are you still starstruck by the Mets? I remember you were here last time and you were like, ’ _Oh, Vince Vaughn, like that’s a big deal, but if I saw David Wright_ -”

“Yea.” Dylan pointed at Lauren, confirming that she had hit the nail on the head.

“Weak in the knees. Still?” Lauren finished up her question.

Dylan nodded. “Yea, yea, I got my D. Wright jersey-”

Cliff chimed in. “Today, right? I saw it. His  _assistant_  had it.”

Dylan laughed and nodded, then connected with you, in the back of the studio, holding his jersey over the crook of your arm. “Yea, yea, exactly.” He smirked and snickered, then got distracted by the conversation moving on.

Dylan concluded the interview portion of his time on  _MLB Central_ , and moved into the other half of the studio to play a quick round of  _Central Scribbles_ , before he had to leave to do his next interview at MTV. Dylan laughed hard and drew terribly, but you were happy to see him enjoying himself so thoroughly that he looked as thrilled and giddy as he had on his birthday. 

Dylan walked over to you and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek, after he had said thank you and goodbye to his hosts, while you walked outside to the car, waiting downstairs. You couldn’t help but poke fun at him, over the thing that cracked you and Mary up during the second segment, while you waited in the elevator.

“You know what my favorite part about all of that was?” You stared up at Dylan, who was massaging his fingers into the small of your back, with the most content look on his face.

“How I called you out for loving fucking  _Tino Martinez_?” He asked, a smarmy look growing on his face.

You playfully glared up at him. “No, but thanks for that too.” Dylan snickered, and pulled you closer to his side. “I love how you were drawing Daryl Strawberry and you were like ’ _I can’t say anything, right?_ ’ and Matt confirmed that, and then you went on to narrate your  _entire_  drawing. ’ _It’s a fruit_.’, like come on, you are  _such_  a cheater.” You grinned up at him, and Dylan simply laughed loud.

* * *

Dylan did a quick interview with MTV and signed some promotional work for Teen Wolf, before he moved on to the, Tiki and Tierney hosted, CBS Sports Radio show. You watched from the producer’s booth, with Mary, and couldn’t help but let your smile return because of how relaxed and happy Dylan seemed again, to be on another sports show, to promote  _American Assassin_.

Towards the end of the interview, Tiki Barber, a famed, retired New York football player, pivoted the questions away from the movie and on to Dylan. “Now, where did you grow up? You grew up in New York City early, as BT was saying earlier-”

Dylan nodded, and rubbed at the stubble on his chin, usually either a sign that he was highly uncomfortable or incredibly relaxed. Considering he had just been talking about the Mets, you took it as the latter. “New Jersey, Springfield. Yea, yea.” Dylan corrected Tiki.

“Oh, so you’re Springfield..” Tiki paused. “How are you a Jets fan?” Tiki and Brandon Tierney argued about Jets verus, Tiki’s, Giants for a minute, before they actually let Dylan answer the question.

“It’s the Long Island in my family. It’s, you know,  _my dad,_  he’s, uh, one of six, you know? And they’re  _huge_  Mets-Jets, so, I was just born into it, man, you, uh, uh, you know, I- and I stuck with them too, you know.” Dylan explained.

Tierney interrupted Dylan to ask a follow up question. “So, does that mean that holidays when you see your dad’s side, it’s just a huge downer because your teams never win?”

Dylan laughed hard and rubbed his fingers into his stubble, flashing you a look in the booth across the room, behind him. “Uh, yea, yea, actually, so I was actually, uh, on Long Island this summer. My sister had rented a beach house out east and so I got to watch a lot more Mets in person this year than I usually do while I’m in L.A.-”

Tierney cut Dylan off once more. “What a god awful year to get to go to Mets games though.”

Dylan cackled and rubbed his fingers through his long, wavy hair, while nodding. “I know, I know, but, um, I’m actually sticking around the area into the Fall, for a new role, and so I get to actually spend Thanksgiving out here with my Dad’s side, this year, and I’m bringing my Yankees fan, and  _apparently_ , if she had to pick,  _Giants fan_ , girlfriend-”

“That'ta girl!” Tiki interjected with an excited fistpump, and you chuckled quietly, not believing that he had brought you up again in an interview.

“Nah, no, no, I’m bringing her to Thanksgiving, with me, on Long Island this year, and she’s going to have to endure the wrath of my insanely large and enthusiastic, Mets-Jets family, and I keep telling her,” Dylan paused to laugh loudly. “I keep telling her, like, ’ _It’s never too late to become a Mets fan._ ’”

“Shirk your heathen baseball ways.” Tierney added with a laugh.

Dylan nodded. “Yea, yea, yea,  _exactly_ , and she’s always just like, ’ _I’m not becoming a Mets fan, I don’t like being sad._ ’”

“Smart girl.” Tiki joked.

“How’d you end up with a Yankees fan as a girlfriend? Is she just a bandwagoner because the baby Bombers are doing surprisingly great this year with newbies like Judge and Sanchez?” Tierney inquired.

Dylan shook his head and leaned forward, his foot propped up against the underside of the desk. He was incredibly relaxed getting to talk about his favorite subjects: you and baseball. “No, no, actually, she’s from New York, herself, and she’s been a lifelong Yankees fan, so-”

Tiki chimed in again, as he shuffled through the papers in front of him. “I don’t get this though, the researchers said that some of the easiest stuff to find out about you was how you’re enthusiastically a massive, massive Mets fan, so like, how are  _you_  dating a Yankees fan?”

“At least she isn’t a Phillies fan, though, probably.” Tierney quipped, and Dylan laughed.

“Oh, yea, no, that would be a dealbreaker.” He shrugged, and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a soft grin resting on his lips. “ _Love is love, man_. I mean, like, I respect her even if she roots against my Mets in the Subway Series, which she did, cause we actually got to go to a game last month and I was just like,  _man, if you weren’t my girlfriend, I would, like, actually hate you right now_ , cause the Yanks beat my Mets.” All three men chuckled at Dylan’s anecdote. “But, I guess the important thing is that she genuinely loves baseball, and so that makes it really fun for me.”

Your jaw practically hit the floor when Dylan said, ’ _love is love_ ’. 

That was the first time you had heard him say something to that extent, in regards to you. He told you, on many occasions, that he loved things about you, like your eyes, or your brain, or the way you held in your sneezes, or the way that you softly pinched at your lower lip when you were reading something that made you happy, but he had never said something that implied that  _he might love you_. Your face grew incredibly red, and you were wondering if he was dwelling on what he had just said, as much as you were. He didn’t seem to be fazed at all, since he simply continued on with the interview.

* * *

When the interview was finally over, Dylan shook the hands of his hosts, thanked them, and agreed to come back to talk sports with them on his next press tour. He said goodbye to Mary until the game later, hopped in the car with you and the driver, and headed back to your apartment in Queens to relax and get ready for the Mets game in a few hours. His friends and Julia were going to come over and head to Citifield with the two of you, and while he was nervous about throwing out the pitch, you were nervous about meeting two of his oldest friends and another member of the  _Maze Runner_  cast. 

You also couldn’t get the words ’ _love is love_ ’ out of your head. It made your palms sweat and your heart race a little fast, and instead of curling up next to Dylan and letting him physically feel how nervous you were, you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. A yawn came naturally, since this was the first time all day that you weren’t rushing off somewhere else or watching him work; following him around while he did press was oddly tiring.

“You regretting saying yes to coming with me to all of the events today?” Dylan asked, a small smirk resting on his lips, as he watched you yawn again.

You opened your eyes and smiled over at him, his brows stitched together and his eyes watching you curiously. You could tell he didn’t love the physical distance between the two of you, and if you had to guess, he was probably wondering why it was occurring. “ _Never_.” You wiped your palms on your jean-covered thighs and leaned away from the window, and towards him, sitting next to you in the middle section of the back seat of the black SUV, driving towards the Midtown Tunnel. “Today was busy, but really fun.” You contorted your face and Dylan paused, mouth open as he was about to talk, but he waited to see what else you had to say first. “ _Except_  for that MTV interview.”

Dylan tilted his head to the right and quirked an eyebrow up in wonder. “What was wrong with that interview? Josh is pretty cool.”

“He was fine,” You paused. “I just hate listening to- and I mean,  ** _ACTIVELY_**   _hate_  having to listen to you talk about the accident  _over and over and over_  and he was asking really personal questions and I could tell that you.. I don’t know,  _weren’t you uncomfortable?_ ” Dylan picked your hand up off of your leg and resettled it in his lap, holding your wrist in his right hand, while he traced the outline of your fingers with his left hand, as if he was drawing an invisible Thanksgiving hand turkey.

He finally turned his head to look at you and sent you a soft smile. “I love that you’re protective of me, and I love that you were here today. It made it more fun for me to look over and see you giggling in the background.”

Dylan paused to bring the inside of your wrist up to his lips, where he left a soft kiss, before he finally situated your hand in between his legs and laced his fingers with yours. It wasn’t sexual, it was just sweet and intimate and connecting. 

’ _Love is love._ ‘ 

God damnit, he was killing you.

“That interview did get a little personal but I also let it,” Dylan shrugged. “and he also said that if I didn’t want to answer things, I didn’t have to. They could’ve edited stuff out. I’ve known him for a long time, and I thought I’d give him,” He paused and rolled his eyes at himself lightly. “more of a  _scoop_  or something. I don’t know.” He turned to you with a large smile on his face, and brought his large left hand up to cup your right cheek, bringing you that much closer, as he pressed a warm kiss against the end of your jaw, right before your ear. “I really love that you’re protective of me though. Makes you that much more wonderful.”

You exhaled heavily from your nose and closed your eyes. He was making it very hard to keep those three words solely on the tip of your tongue. You leaned your head against his shoulder and smiled. You were very content with this man. “You seemed like you had fun today, for the most part, at least.”

“I did,” Dylan adjusted his seatbelt across his chest, and ran his arm over the backs of your shoulders, pulling you close against him, and leaving a quick peck on the top of your head. “I swear, I was doing the  _MLB Central_  interview and hanging out with them and I kept thinking that I should just quit acting and work there. Honestly, it’s so much more fun than my real job; just getting to talk about the Mets all day.”

“I cannot fathom how happy you would be if you got paid to watch the Mets play all season long.”

Dylan chuckled. “ _Right_? Like, the fucking happiest.”

“But you love acting….” You had a hint of amusement in your voice, knowing that he did, in fact, love his real job too.

“Yea, yea,  _whatever_. I guess, it’s fun getting to pretend werewolves are real and that I am an assassin for the CIA.” You couldn’t see him, but if you knew him at all,  _and you did_ , you knew he was playfully rolling his eyes.

“Oh, by the way,” You perked up, remembering something you wanted to chastise him for, and pulled away so you could look at him. Dylan’s brows quirked up and a small smirk rested on his lips when he noticed the flash of excitement on your face. “thanks for  _totally_  throwing me under the bus with your family for Thanksgiving. They absolutely did  _not_  need to know I was a Yankees fan, but there’s no way they don’t know that now.. and just to be clear, I am  _barely_  even a Giants fan,  _which I know you know_.” You glared with your eyes, but your mouth betrayed your real emotions by showing your pinched smirk.

Dylan began laughing, and reached out to clasp his hand around yours again. He enjoyed physically touching you whenever he could get away with it. “ _Baby_ ,” Dylan started, as he pulled you close once more. “I hate to tell you this, but my dad already told everyone when he told them that we were all coming out for Thanksgiving, and that you were coming with us. You already had an uphill battle ahead of you.”

Your mouth gaped and you tried not to laugh, but you couldn’t help it. “Are you serious?” You scoffed playfully and slumped in place, next to him, pretending to pout. “I’m going to have a  _serious_ _conversation_  with Pat the next time I see him about where his loyalties lie.”

Dylan couldn’t stop grinning, his pearly whites on full display, as he pressed even more kisses against your cheek and jawline. “Between his five brothers and sisters and  _my new girlfriend_ , his loyalties definitely lie with you. _For sure_.” He teased.

You shoved him away lightly, with your shoulder and he chuckled. “You know,  _also_ ,” You held up a finger in his face, to which he licked. You liked how good of a mood he was in. “for someone who likes to keep his personal life private, and didn’t want to talk about me in order to protect me, you talked  _a lot of fucking shit today_.” A giant grin was now plastered on your face, as well.

Dylan’s grin grew smug, and he shrugged. “Be a Mets fan, and I won’t be forced to talk shit.”

“Oh, yea, like after all the stuff you said about real sports fans not abandoning their teams, I’m gonna jump onto the Mets bandwagon.” You let out a chuckle, and Dylan wrapped his left hand around your thigh, and his right hand around your right side, and pulled you close, tickling your side slightly until you settled back in against him.

Dylan sighed, and his face went from giddy to content, as he watched your hands fiddle with the black buttons at the neck of his dark blue henley. “I did talk about you a lot today, didn’t I?” You hummed in agreement, glancing up at him, wondering if he remembered what he said on the  _CBS Sports Radio_  show. “I didn’t say that you were going to be at the game with me tonight though.”

“Yea.”

“I don’t want people specifically looking for the girl in my group on tv or something.” You nodded. “I’m always protecting you baby.  _Trust me._ ” He smiled, as your delicate fingers worked their way up to gently paw at his scruffy cheek.

“I do.” You smiled softly at him. “I was just surprised, is all.”

Dylan stroked the inside of your thigh with his thumb and leaned his head closer to yours. “It’s just,” He looked up for a moment, like he was thinking of what to say next or just having a revelation. “I guess, all my stories involve you nowadays and a lot of my baseball stories this season involve you, and  _you’re always on my mind_ , so honestly, talking about you in those interviews earlier, kind of just slipped out.  _I didn’t even think about it._ ”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks; your ears and elbows and toes felt physically warmer with the flustering embarrassment and joy that he brought you with his words. You buried your face into his neck in order to not let him see, but you were sure he knew anyway because he, against all laws of nature, managed to pull you even closer somehow.

“You’re something else entirely, Dylan O'Brien. Something else entirely.” You whispered, before pressing a warm and soft kiss against his perfect neck. He sighed softly at the feeling. Several minutes of comfortable silence and backseat cuddling passed, until you noticed his left leg begin to bounce in place. You pulled your face from the crook of his neck and glanced up at him. “You getting nervous for tonight?”

Dylan nodded. “Whenever you aren’t talking to me, my mind goes back to it.”

“Well then, let me think of something I can argue with you about.” You looked up at the roof of the SUV and pretended to think hard. You heard him snicker. “Ah,  _yes_ , let us discuss you mocking the love of my life,  _Tino Martinez_.” Dylan laughed hard, as the car continued down the Long Island Expressway to your apartment.

* * *

Dylan’s best friends from when he was four, Nick and Chris, Alexander Flores, who played Winston in  _The Maze Runner_  and  _The Scorch Trials_ , and Dylan’s older sister, Julia, came over about an hour after you got back to your apartment. You got to know the three you hadn’t met before, drank a couple of beers and watched as Nick, Chris, Alex and Dylan tossed a baseball around on the sidewalk in front of your building. 

Eventually, Dylan changed into his David Wright #5 Mets jersey and you wore his old Mike Piazza #31 Mets jersey, something he claimed was ’ _a sight to behold._ ’ He rambled on for at least ten minutes in the car, on the way to Citifield, about the merits of him just throwing the ball versus trying to pitch a changeup or a fastball. Nick, Chris and Alex indulged him, and argued their own feelings about the subject, while you and Julia caught up about the disastrous date that Collette had been on three nights before and the great third date that Julia had been on that afternoon.

Walking into Citifield, Dylan asked you, at least, four times if he looked okay, and if he should have worn his black Mets cap. You assured him that he looked perfect each time he asked, quietly chuckling over the fact that you had never seen him this nervous before. 

He clutched your hand painfully tight and you let him channel his energy into crushing your fingers, because you figured that was what a good girlfriend did for the guy that had been dreaming about stepping onto the pitchers mound at Shea Stadium, and then Citifield, since he could hold a ball in his hands.

“Oh shit, what if I get dirt all over your shoes though?” Dylan suddenly realized, as you all stood outside of the Mets Outreach Office, waiting to get your access passes from Mary and the Outreach team.

You glanced down at the gray and white Adidas that you had gotten for Dylan for his birthday, and that he had barely taken off since, and shrugged with a grin. “It’ll be Citifield dirt… that’s like holy dirt. Those shoes would be so lucky.”

“Yea, yea, yea, oh my god. You’re right. You’re always right.” Dylan paused. ‘ _One of the many reasons why I love you._ ’

He paused and stopped himself before he let the last sentence roll off his tongue with ease. When that feeling, that word, came so effortlessly to mind, he knew that he couldn’t keep holding off on telling you for much longer. He grinned and left an, arguably, excitably aggressive kiss on your forehead. He laughed at how you scrunched your face over his roughness.

He watched you join in on a joke that Chris had been telling, but instead of really listening, he processed the thought he had before. Statements like that had been almost spilling out from his tongue with a greater frequency lately. He chuckled to himself and shook his head. He could really feel the emotion settling into his chest, finding a home in his heart, and he was happy with it, comfortable with it, not afraid of it. Tonight was absolutely not the right setting. He didn’t want you to think that he was getting wrapped up in the excitement. He wanted a bit more confirmation that you felt the same way too before he jumped into the deep end with you. 

Mary interrupted his train of thought and brought the group down under the stadium to the locker rooms to meet the players. You had honestly never seen Dylan smile as wide as he did when he got to meet and chat with players like Yoenis Cespedes, Jacob deGrom and Brandon Nimmo, and take pictures inside of the Mets clubhouse. He was on cloud nine getting to see all of the memorabilia and pictures that lined the walls up to the dugout and all but squealed when he met announcers, like, Gary Cohen.

* * *

The time finally came for him to go up to the pitcher’s mound and you held your phone up, while Julia held the GoPro camera, as the two of you, Mary, Nick, Chris and Alex all stood off to the side by the home dugout.

“I feel like I’m gonna vomit.” You whispered over to Julia, as they announced Dylan’s name over the speakers in the stadium.

She jiggled in place, hopping slightly on her toes, as she glanced at you with the biggest smile you had ever seen on her face, in all the years you had known her. “If I wasn’t holding this camera for him right now, I probably would be puking.”

“Stop shaking.” You laughed, unable to really stop shaking yourself. The nerves were immense. “ _Come on, baby. You got this, you got this. Deep breath. You got this_.” You whispered under your breath. You pressed record and waited.

“ ** _Dylan, it’s your pitch._** ” The announcer bellowed through the stadium speakers, and you held your breath.

It happened in the blink of an eye,  _but it was the perfect pitch_. 

The six of you, on the sidelines, erupted into screams of joy, clapping furiously and cheering for Dylan, who jogged over to homeplate to take a picture with the catcher and retrieve the ball that was now his to take home. He and the catcher chatted for thirty more seconds, before the larger man patted Dylan on the back and broke off, to return to the clubhouse.

Dylan tried to maintain his composure, as he speed-walked back to where you all stood, waiting and still cheering, until he just couldn’t contain his excitement anymore. He trotted back over to you, skipping on his tip toes, his knees high, with the biggest grin you had ever seen, plastered on his face. His cheeks were flushed pink and his teeth clenched tightly together, and you laughed. He high-fived Nick, then Chris, then you, Mary, Alex, and Julia, and then finally let out a deep breath.

“Alright, now I’m gonna go throw up.” He exclaimed, garnering laughs from everyone.

He wrapped his arms around your neck and shoulders and leaned his weight onto your body, and you hugged him back tightly, propping him up. “Oh my god, my heart will not slow down.” He announced, and Nick then went on a tangent about how perfectly chest-high the pitch was, and how it had the most perfect forty-five degree arc. Dylan tried to soak it all in, before suddenly, you were all being whisked away to your seats behind homeplate.

You wanted Dylan to sit next to Nick and Chris, to let them live out the fact that they had been going to Mets games together since they were little boys, and this was arguably the most important and epic one that they had been to together, but he insisted on having you next to him. Regardless of the fact that, every time you two went to a game together, the Mets lost. He wasn’t fully convinced you were bad luck, and you were wearing his jersey that night,  _so how much bad luck could you actually be?_  

_SNY_  did a quick interview with Dylan in between the bottom of the second and the top of the third and besides that, Dylan was completely engrossed in the game, rooting for the Phillie’s to ’ _get hella wrecked_ ’, but never really letting your hand fall out of his for the remainder of the night.

* * *

The Mets ended up losing. 

 _By a lot_ …

 …and Dylan was upset, but as he laid in your bed that night, staring at the ceiling, waiting for you to come back in from brushing your teeth and taking a quick shower, he thought about his day. You walked in with messy, damp hair and the slightly oversized Mets t-shirt that he bought you earlier in the night, claiming you needed something Mets of your own, regardless of the fact that he not so secretly  _fucking loved_  seeing you in his Piazza jersey.

“Were you waiting up for me, or are you just never going to sleep again after today?” You grinned at him, kneeling on the edge of your bed, as you finished running floss through your teeth.

Dylan propped his right arm behind his head and stared at you, adoringly. “A little bit of both.”

“Want some  _NyQuil_  or something? See if it will knock you out?” You semi-joked, as you tossed the floss into the trash by your door, and turned out the overhead lights. The small bedroom remained dimly lit by the lamp on Dylan’s side of your bed.

“Nah, just you.” He made grabby hands with his left hand, beckoning you to finally get into bed with him. You climbed under the sheets with him, and positioned yourself comfortably on his left shoulder and chest. His left hand found its home under your shirt and on your ribs, and your hands tucked under the end of his boxer briefs and over his bare chest, hooking over his collarbone, enjoying the flex of his muscles under your touch. “Tonight was sort of a bummer at the end, but honestly, one of the best nights of my life.” Dylan’s voice grew lower, as you both settled down for the night.

You smiled, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t really see it, since you weren’t looking up at him. “I bet.” You thought for a moment. “I can’t even think of what the equivalent would be for me. I don’t think I love any thing as much as you love the Mets.”

“It’d probably be like going backstage at a National concert or…” He thought aloud, with a grin that you missed. “Oh, or like, getting to be on set for  _Star Wars_  or something.”

You laughed. “That’s actually, probably incredibly accurate.”

Silence filled the room for a few minutes, as Dylan got lost in his thoughts again. “You still awake?” He whispered.

“Yea.” You murmured, caught between drifting off and listening to him to see if he was still awake.

He let out a short huff, before speaking. “I’m so happy with you, Y/n.”

You weren’t expecting him to say that at all, so you popped your head up to glance at him, out of instinct.  _Then you smiled_. “I’m so happy with you.”

He strained to lean down and kiss you, but a quick peck on the lips was accomplished, nonetheless. “I’m so happy you were with me tonight too…” You watched as he trailed off for a moment, trying to gather what he wanted to say, before he faced down to look at you again. “I just feel so incredibly lucky to know that you’re always there, cheering me on with whatever I do… It’s funny,” Dylan said. “I know that I am a celebrity and I have  _literal fans_  who support me through good and bad times and that’s amazing, but  _somehow_ …” He paused again, huffing out a laugh and squinting his eyes. “I don’t even know how to say this.” You had no idea what to say, since you had no idea what he was about to say. You weren’t sure you were even breathing, let alone functioning enough to help him get where he needed to get with this conversation. He let out a soft exhale and then his expression softened. “My l _ife has been pretty easy with you as my personal fan club._ ”

A large grin covered your face, and you dug your nose into his chest, trying to smother the pink hue rising to your cheeks. “You’re so fucking cute. What did I do to deserve you?” You mumbled into his warm skin.

“I’m serious.” Dylan began to move underneath you, as his voice grew more somber. “ _Come here._ ” He adjusted your bodies so that you were both laying on your sides, facing each other. His fingers found their place on your ribs once more, but this time they rubbed up and down your side, under your shirt, a motion that relaxed the both of you.

Dylan smiled, as you settled into your new positions. “I had such a fantastic day and night, and it easily,  _easily_ , goes down as being one of the best of my life, and even if it never happens again, _I did it_. I have the videos and the ball and the dirt on my shoes to prove it.” You snickered at his small joke. His hands moved from under your shirt, to under your chin, as Dylan rubbed your jaw with his thumb, and stared adoringly into your y/e/c eyes. “But what I was laying here and thinking about,  _the part that really fucking wows me_ , Y/n, was the fact that I realized that the level of sheer bliss that I felt tonight, throwing out the first pitch at the  _fucking Mets-Phillies game_ , and then just meeting the  _ **FUCKING**_   ** _Mets_**.” Dylan grew a little loud, but you couldn’t do anything but laugh over his enthusiasm and excitement. He settled down quickly, and continued. “ _That_  level of just pure and genuine happiness is a feat that you consistently accomplish for me on a daily basis.”

“ _Dyl_ …” You whispered, softly, as your brow stitched together and your fingers pressed into his chest and neck.

He shook his head, and a softness formed at the curvature of his perfect pink lips. “I’m serious. You make me as happy as I was tonight,  _every time_  I’m with you…” He snickered softly. “Even when I’m not with you, you still manage it. That same giddiness I felt in my chest today, I feel  _every day_  with you. I don’t know how you manage it, but I hope you know how lucky I feel and how invested in  _this_  I am.”

His eyes were pools of black, brimming with golden brown, and his hands were warm and engulfing, as they pressed against your cheek. You genuinely thought about telling him you loved him,  _because you did_ , and it felt like the correct response to his basic proclamation of devotion to you, but you were a creature of tradition, and you knew he was too. 

 _You wanted him to say it first_.

You sighed and brushed your fingers over his browbone and the tiny scar on the right side of his nose, then up to the tiny scars on his forehead. You shook your head and smiled softly, mostly in your eyes and at the very corners of your mouth. You were so content. You enjoyed the way that your feet moved against his at the end of the bed, under the covers, and how you currently felt lightly connected in a physical way, yet, heavily connected in an emotional way. It was intoxicating.

“You make my heart just race and race and I think, sometimes, that it will  _just_ -” You imitated a tiny explosion with your hands and Dylan chuckled.

“You make mine race too.” He replied, as his large hands reconnected with your side and pulled you close, against him. His fingers traced your hip, as his lips dipped down to meet yours. “I know we should be going to sleep, because tomorrow is long and important and  _whatever_  too…” He tucked his lower lip between his teeth for half a second. “but I really wanna be with you right now. I just want to make love to you right now.”

You grinned and pushed your body harder against his, and crashed your lips against his once more, your tongues pushing their ways out to find one another immediately. You let him roll you onto your back and continue kissing you, and you tried to stay in the moment, but once again, for the second time that day, Dylan had said the ’ _L-word_ ’ and you were having a hard time doing anything but thinking about if he loved you too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs dreamily* hi. thanks for coming back. okay. so, I watched an absurd amount of videos, garnered an absurd amount of gifs, pictures, articles, interviews, information, to make this chapter good. Parts of the interviews, I obviously embellished to make them fit with this story, but my god, does that boy say ‘uh’ and ‘yea’ a lot. Goodness. It’s cute. Who cares? Not I. ALTHOUGH, Dylan did actually mention Tino Martinez (and my fourth grader heart practically snapped in half), so maybe this story is canon. who the fuck knows? (it’s not).


	16. AOL Studios, Downtown Manhattan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On September 6th, 2017, you go to Dylan’s New York premiere for American Assassin, where a question goes unanswered. On September 9th, 2017, Dylan flies to the Minneapolis premiere without you. On September 12th, 2017, you rejoin Dylan, in Los Angeles, for the last American Assassin premiere, where truths are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God damn, this is a hulk of a chapter. This thing took me forever to write, and ironically, the first part that I wrote for this chapter, I took out and tacked onto the beginning of the next because I felt this was too long. HA HA. my life is a joke. Anyway, we’re starting to get to the real parts of this story as it begins to wind down. Read at your own peril.

"Put your fucking arm down."

Dylan grinned and looked down at you through his black RayBans. "Why?"

"Because every time you lift it to wave, your shirt pulls up and shows your boxer briefs and all this morning's sex did was rile me up more and this fucking green shirt... It's just not helping, okay?"

Dylan chuckled and continued to walk close to you down the sidewalk to his AOL Build Series interview. "Someone is in quite the mood this morning."

"Yes, and it's all your fault, asshole." You chirped back with playful contempt. 

Dylan smirked and spoke quietly, under his breath, for only you to hear. "God, I can't wait to just fuck you until you see stars tonight." 

"Ifuckinghateyou." You seethed through clenched teeth.

* * *

You sat on your bed in your underwear and bra, a skimpy black lace set, your teeth gnawing on the ends of your pointer and middle fingernails, and your toes curling and uncurling, trying to serve as a distraction, as you watched Dylan shining his black leather oxfords in nothing but his black boxer briefs. You could jump him. He looked... you were having a hard time remaining coherent. 

You knew what it was that had you all hot and bothered, besides the fact that your boyfriends' legs were spread wider than the Grand Canyon, and he was all but completely naked... No, what really had you eyeing him like a starving dog stares at a medium-rare filet mignon, was the suit that was hanging in your closet.

You wanted to see it on him; then you wanted to see it on the floor next to your bed.

He hadn't worn a suit in front of you yet, but you knew it would leave you wanting, yearning, craving him. Your thighs rubbed together, trying to quell the dull throbbing between them, as you ran your finger back and forth over the smooth plastic of your mascara tube. 

Your hair was done, your makeup was done, your legs were shaved, and all that was left to do was get dressed, but it was about thirty minutes until the car was coming to pick the two of you up, and you were in no rush to put your low backed, body hugging, black lace dress on. You had told him that you didn't want to wrinkle it, but the most primal, needy, desperate part of you, no matter how deep down, knew that lace didn't really wrinkle and you just wanted to entice him into a quickie. You wondered if he knew that and that was why he had been avoiding eye contact with you via shining his already shiny black leather dress shoes for thirty minutes now. You resented his will power. 

He finally glanced up and connected with your stare. The tiniest curve to the edges of his lips occurred and you tilted your head; a silent challenge. He dropped his shoe to the floor, got up, and walked over to the closet. Fucking restraint. You huffed in audible frustration, as he kept his back turned to you, staring at his clothes on the hangers.

You had given him sex so phenomenal that morning that his legs shook and actual tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He thanked you profusely for an hour after.

Where was the reciprocity?

He was a cock hiding monster.

You glared, actively resenting the way that his hairy and muscular and long legs disappeared from view into his black suit pants. You let out another audible huff; this time purposefully louder. You wanted him to know your displeasure with his insistence upon getting dressed, being responsible, not getting into trouble with Mary and the studio by being late to his own movie premiere. You heard him snicker, his shoulders shaking slightly in his amusement, and you threw the tube of mascara at his back. 

It landed square between his shoulder blades, blessedly still bare, and his head jerked to the side. You could see the smirk in his eyes, but his shoulder obscured his mouth. "At least your aim is getting better." He had the audacity to mock you, in your state. You could just tie him up to your headboard, if you had one, and never let him leave again. That would teach him, the ungrateful, beautiful, teasing bastard. 

"Asshole." You mumbled, but he laughed again. You groaned.

His laugh was sexy too.

He was the worst. 

You watched his perfectly rippling back and arm and shoulder muscles flex effortlessly as he reached up to grab his black dress shirt from your closet. You pathetically whimpered as you watched all his beautiful, milky, yet tan and mole covered skin disappear into an abyss of dark fabric. He dipped his hands into his pants, to smooth his shirt under the waist, and you choked back a growl. You would've happily done that for him. Dylan turned slightly and walked back over to the chair in the corner of your bedroom, grabbing the black dress socks off the arm of the lounge. He yanked them over his feet and then moved on to putting on his shoes. He glanced up at you, scowling and mostly naked on the bed, still. He took a deep breath and hoped that his voice didn't portray how aroused he was because of your ravenous hunger for him. 

"You should get dressed, babe. The car will be here in twenty minutes." 

"We've done it in less." You reminded him with a quirked eyebrow. 

"Yea, and we looked like we had just fucked like bunnies in heat, so, you know, maybe not best for when I am about to get my picture taken a million times."

You let out a frustrated sigh and rolled your eyes, before you finally swung your legs over the side of the bed and stalked over to your closet. Dylan found his breath growing increasingly shallow, as he watched you slip the figure flattering dress over your hips, rocking them back and forth to get the material up easier. He thought about how glorious his cock would look, as it painted precum across your lips like gloss. 

"Help me with the hook in the back?" You asked, tucking your hair over your shoulder to reveal the hook and eye that kept the top of your backless dress up. 

Even the sound of his stupidly large dress shoes, tapping against your hardwood bedroom floors, filled the lower half of your body with a seemingly inextinguishable heat. His fingers, his gloriously long and fuckable fingers, ghosted along your spine. "Are you keeping your bra on?" 

"Oh, I almost forgot." You were calculating, in this moment. Dylan had once told you that he thought one of the sexiest things in the world was watching a woman take her bra off under her clothes. You tried to keep your devilish grin hidden from his view, as you unhooked your bra, pulled one strap off under the short cap sleeves of your dress, then the other strap off. 

"You're fucking evil." He whispered in your ear, his hands having migrated down to a firm resting place on your lower hips, his thumbs kneading the muscles above your ass. 

You tossed the black lace garment behind you, on your bed, hearing it miss and slink down on to the floor instead. You'd grab it later, for now, you had switched over to a long-game strategy. He had run out the clock on pre-premiere sex; so you fully intended on making him suffer the rest of the night. You were certain he already knew, but you played coy instead. 

"I don't know what you're talking about." You shrugged, reaching back to pull your hair aside once more, exposing the nape of your neck and the gentle slope of your spine. "Could you?" You batted your long, full, black eyelashes at Dylan and put on your most innocent smile. 

His perfect fingers completed the task, and then his hard body pushed against you, as Dylan reached into the closet, in front of you, to grab his black suit jacket. You exhaled deeply and shook your head, waiting for him to let you out from how he had boxed you in. He finally did, as he put his fitted coat on. "What is it with you and suits anyway?" Dylan asked, pulling at the cuffs of his shirt, under the sleeves of his coat. 

"For one," You started and then you just stared at him, an almost pained look on your face, as you shook your head. He furrowed his brow when he saw your expression. You continued after a few long moments. "you look so good right now, I could honestly just cum looking at you."

Dylan laughed in his perfect full body, shaking like an idiot, foot stomping on the floor, arms clutching at his stomach, laugh, before he quieted and approached you. He cupped his hands against your jaw and smirked, still giggling quietly. He sighed. "You kill me." 

Your smile grew a little more genuine. You wanted him, desperately, but you were also not insensitive to how important today was to him. You let it go until later. He'd fucking owe you later. "I know." You replied with a shrug. Dylan leaned down and left a soft, calm, sweet kiss on your lips. 

"You're going to want to avert your eyes, my love." You quirked a brow up at his comment, needing more information. Dylan snickered. "You got me hard as a fucking rock. I need to..." He swooped a hand in front of himself, gesturing randomly. "adjust myself." 

You wiggled your eye brows up, a small, impish grin settling at the corners of your mouth. "What a treat."

Dylan laughed, and then laughed a little more when you did actually turn around. If you had to watch him touch himself, you might die. You went in search of your black heels instead. You had asked Dylan earlier if it was lame that the two of you were essentially matching that night, and he simply shook his head; a happy smile on his mouth. He told you that he liked it very much.

"So, suit fetish and all, try to be objective." You snarled at him, an unamused glare in your eyes. It only made him smirk more. He had shaved, styled his hair to swoop to the side, and had been fiddling back and forth between buttoning and unbuttoning his jacket closed. "Do I look good?" He pursed his lips and held his arms out to his sides. 

You smiled and got to your feet, your high heels clacking against the floor, as you approached him. You placed a gentle kiss on his lips and smiled, smoothing your hand up the buttonless front of his shirt. So sexy. Ugh, asshole. You refocused, as your fingers hooked around his collar, fixing it against his jacket collar. Your hands settled on Dylan's muscular neck, as his squeezed your waist, keeping you close. 

"You look.." You smiled genuinely. "like a man."

Dylan snickered and wrinkled his brow. "What do you mean now?"

"I mean," You scoffed, and pressed your forehead against your arm. You glanced back up at him finally. "Google searches are occasionally done when you're out of town working and I miss your face."

Dylan looked touched and genuinely moved by this new piece of information. "Really?"

You nodded, your pearly whites on full display. "And I may have been looking up what you wore to past premieres a few weeks ago, when you were in London, and don't get me wrong, babe, you can wear a suit." You smoothed your hand down the fabric that hid his shirt buttons again, finding the sleekness of the shirt to be unendingly sexy. "But, I don't know; you look very grown up in this one and you're wearing it like a glove and-" You sighed, finally ceasing your rambling. "you look like a movie star, Dyl. Very sexy, very handsome, very fashionable."

Dylan couldn't help but smile, his fingers snaking around your body to lace against your back. He pulled you firmly against him, with happy purpose this time. "Thanks, babe."

"You're welcome." You smiled softer. 

"You are going to be turning heads all night, yourself. You look beyond gorgeous. Very sexy." He ran his finger up and down your spine. "I like the back."

"I thought you would." You admitted.  

Dylan closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours. Your heart fluttered a little. "I'm so glad you're coming with me tonight. I promise we'll get some pictures together. I need a new phone background."

'I love you.' Ugh. You wished you could stop being a coward and just admit the truth. "Sexy, charming and cute. Kill me now." You deflected with a flippant remark instead.

* * *

"I can't believe you usually come to these things by yourself and just stand here alone... Like, that's friendship right there, Nick." You tried making conversation with the tall, athletic blonde standing next to you; one of Dylan's oldest friends, who was generally his date to premieres in New York, and sometimes in L.A.

Nick's hands were shoved deep in his pants pockets, and he was watching Dylan working the press line, about ten feet away. He laughed quietly at your comment, and shrugged. "I distinctly remember playing Candy Crush on my phone for like forty minutes during The Scorch Trials premiere, just cause I was alone so long." You chuckled quietly at his sort of sad anecdote. "I mean,honestly, it's cool coming to these things with him, and I'm grateful he always invites me, plus I love his movies, but yea, they get kind of lonely. Sometimes I stand with Mary, but usually, she's ushering him from interview to interview." Nick wrinkled his brow, a small smirk forming on his mouth. "Plus, she's not exactly the most talkative person alive."

You smiled lopsidedly up at Dylan's childhood friend and nodded once. "Yea, I don't think Mary would even let me stand next to her. She definitely doesn't love me." 

Nick's eyebrows twitched up in surprise. He scanned the massive crowd of people for Dylan, then Dylan's manager and publicist, Mary. Nick finally looked back down at you. "Why do you think that?"

"She more or less told me as much when Dyl finally told her that we were dating. She called me and gave me this speech about how her job is to protect him and look out for his best interests and his career and make sure he wasn't throwing away opportunities." You admitted. 

Nick jerked his head back, looking even more surprised than before. "And she thinks that you're a threat to all that?"

You nodded, noncommittally. "She didn't say that outright, but she was just like 'I don't know you, I don't know your motives. He's famous and wealthy and his career is going places. He can't just sit in New York with you all year not working.' Blah, blah, blah. I don't know. I tried to tell her that I didn't care about the fact that he's famous or wealthy, and I never asked him to move here or anything like that, and I don't want to hurt his career, but it didn't seem like she believed me."

Nick frowned slightly. "Did you tell him about that?"

You nodded profusely. "Yea, of course. I asked him not to, but he ended up calling her and yelling at her for being so... aggressive with me, I guess." You shrugged, clutching both your hands around your black clutch, in front of you. "I get where she's coming from though. I don't want to fuck up all of this for him. He just keeps getting bigger and bigger and I don't want to mess that up."

"I don't see how you would."

You nodded your head once to the side. "I don't either, but-" You trailed off for a moment. "You never know."

"Well, I know he's the happiest I've seen him in a long time, and I don't mind that he's going to try out the bicoastal thing. I like having him around more often."

You smiled down at the ground, then looked for him; deep in a conversation with an interviewer. "Me too."

Dylan was working his way down the press line, moving towards the entrance to the theater, where you and Nick stood waiting for him. Despite the cries and screams for him and Taylor, you could begin to hear the answers he was giving to the last few reporters. You and Nick had been making small talk and getting to know each other better, but you really just wanted to be back next to Dylan. This whole event had definitely pushed you out of your element. 

"Do you ever get used to this stuff?" You asked, looking up at Nick, who had been checking in on the Mets-Phillies game on his phone. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking you to expand on your original question. "You know, the screaming crowds and reporters and all this." You gestured your hands out in front of you at the scene before the two of you. 

Nick made a noise like he understood, and then chuckled. "Yea, you kind of do after a while. The L.A. will be much worse, just to warn you. It's at the Chinese Theater, right?" You nodded, and he mirrored your action. "It's definitely easier in New York, just cause of how New Yorkers are with celebrities, right? Like, how often do you see them around the city?"

"Almost never." You answered, before adding on a little more. "But that's also cause I'm never looking." 

"Exactly." Nick felt you had made his point for him. "It's even better if he's just here to visit, too. Like, you guys really haven't gotten mobbed much this summer, right?"

"Barely at all." You shook your head. 

"Yea, you know, if he's here for press and stuff, he gets noticed more cause fans are looking for him, but otherwise, the crowds and stuff, it tends to be okay."

"And you get used to it?" You clarified. 

Nick shrugged. "For the most part."

You relaxed slightly, especially when, in between interviews, Dylan found you behind him and smiled. He subtly stuck his hand out behind his back and then squeezed his fingers into a ball, as if to tell you that he wished to be holding your hand. A silent 'thank you' for being so patient. You sent him a smile back. You liked that despite him working and despite all the eyes on him, and all the people demanding his attention, Dylan still wanted to make sure he was connected to you, in some way. It reminded you as to why you were so crazy about him. 

Mary ushered him to his second to last interview, mere feet away. You could hear the whole exchange and you and Nick chuckled over answers he gave, here and there, until he got asked an odd question. 

"So, yesterday, you were doing a lot of press for the movie, but you also got to throw out the first pitch at the Mets game."

"Yep, yep, yep, it was awesome." Dylan replied, smiling softly at the young girl with the microphone. You smiled at how sweet and calming he tried to be to the younger reporters and vloggers. 

"You also talked about your girlfriend and going to baseball games a lot this summer because you and Britt were both in New York for most of the Mets season, how many game did you actually get to go to?"

Dylan opened his mouth to refute the assumption. "Well, actually, it was-"

Until Mary stepped in and cut him off. "Sorry, Dylan has one more interview and really has to get inside. So sorry, but we have to move on." She let the reporter say goodbye to Dylan and then yanked him off to his last interviewer, right in front of you and Nick, who stood there in a stunned silence. 

"Um.." Nick had no idea what to say. He stared at the range of emotions that covered your face: shock, annoyance, hurt, anger, pain. Dylan caught some of it as well; bombing his last interview because he couldn't focus on anything but what he was certain that you had just overheard. 

"I'm gonna go inside and sit." You plastered a pretend smile on your face and pat Nick on the back of the arm once, before turning around and walking into the theater. 

Dylan couldn't speak to you for the entirety of the movie. He tried texting you a few times, but you sat in the dark theater with Julia, who had arrived shortly after the incident, and Nick, watching American Assassin. You weren't checking your phone, and half way through the movie, of which he was seated in the back for an easy and quiet exit, he was pulled out to head to the after party to network and schmooze with Taylor, the studio executives and the critics. He was floundering, trying his hardest to talk up the movie to the critics and producers, while keeping a keen eye on the door of the bar where the party was being held downtown. 

You finally arrived and Dylan excused himself to grab you. "Come here." He pulled you towards the elevators of Catch, an upscale restaurant and bar on the Lower East Side, and waited for the doors to open. He took it down to the ground level and then walked you around the downstairs portion of the restaurant to a quieter part of the block. 

"Are you allowed to leave your own party?" You glanced around, expecting someone to come looking for him imminently. 

"I don't care." Dylan held your elbows firmly, keeping you in place in front of him. "Y/n, I know you heard that exchange earlier."

"I don't wan- It's fine."

"It's not fine, you're barely making eye contact with me. I ripped into Mary about it. That was fucked up. I was about to correct that reporter, but-"

"I saw what happened." You stared down at the sleeves of his black shirt, rolled up his forearms. 

"I'm so sorry. I thought-"

You interrupted him, finally making eye contact with your tall boyfriend. "I know you didn't do it. I heard you about to correct her before Mary cut you off."

Dylan shook his head and let out an unsatisfied huff. "Mary seems to think that continuing to let people think that Britt and I are still together is good for both of our careers. I think it's mostly good for Britt's, but, I don't know, my real fans know we aren't together still anyway, so I don't know who she's trying to fool at this point.." He stopped, scratching at his stubble and shrugging his left hand up, before reconnecting it, this time, with your cheek. "I told her how pissed I would be if she pulled shit like that again." You simply nodded. There wasn't very much for you to even say. Dylan dipped his head down slightly, trying to reconnect with your y/e/c eyes. "I'm so sorry. Please don't be mad at me. I'll message that reporter and set the record straight"

You shook your head, a neutral, yet displeased look, still resting on your face. "No, just leave it alone."

"Y/n, I can't have my girlfriend being upset like this. I'll contact the-"

"No, it's fine. I'm not mad." You cut him off.

"You sound mad, and you won't really touch me right now." He tilted his head to the side and pushed his hand against your cheek, trying to get you to just be present with him again. 

You did. Your free hand cupped the outside of his hand, on your cheek. Dylan visibly relaxed some. "I'm not mad, it just hurt my feelings. I don't get why Mary seems to think that Britt is better for your-" You stopped and shook your head. "That doesn't even matter. It's fine. I get it. I'm not famous and Britt is one of Mary's clients so she has an allegiance to her over me. I get that, I really do. I'm just, I know that you don't want to blow up my life by outing our relationship, and I appreciate that because I know that my anonymity would be gone if you revealed our relationship in a major way-"

"But?" Dylan leaned in even closer, and the world melted away around the two of you. The wafting scent of his cologne traveled up into your nose and the soft feeling of his big hands burned into your skin, and you just didn't have it in you to be mad. 

You shrugged, pushing your hand against the buttonless fabric in the middle of his dress shirt. "But.. it kind of sucks that people still think you're dating her."

"I know. I don't like it anymore than you, but anyone who matters knows it's only you." 

You sent him a lopsided, reassuring smile and Dylan leaned in to kiss you lightly on the lips. "I know." You told him. "We're good, I promise. I saw you try to shut the whole thing down. It just, hurt my feelings or something, I don't know."

"If it's any consolation, I do check the internet occasionally, and pretty much no one on Twitter or Tumblr, who is a real fan of mine or Britt's thinks that we're still dating each other." 

You sighed and leaned up to kiss him again. "That does kind of make me feel better."

Dylan chuckled quietly and hugged you in against his chest. "Now, I get to go back upstairs and show you off to every single person in that room."

"You better." You teased, sort of. 

He separated slightly, enough that he could look at you. "Just so you know, I was fully planning on really trying to make up for teasing you tonight, but now, I'm really gonna fucking make it up to you." A devilish grin spread across his face. "All night long."

You laughed and pressed against him a little harder, teasing him. "Good, because this look, right now, is definitely doing things for me."

"Yea?" 

"Oh yea, you know I've got a thing for your arms and you in this suit. It's almost like you're still teasing me."

"Maybe I am." Dylan smirked, as he took your hand and began to lead you back to the restaurant. 

"Asshole."

"Your asshole though." He reminded you.

"Yea, yea, whatever." You chuckled.

* * *

The next two days were better. Dylan woke you up early and brought you to all of his press obligations with him. The Rich Eisen Show interview was probably your favorite of the day. First of all, because Dylan had someone to talk to about his fantasy football team, that wasn't you, and secondly, because Dylan mentioned you again. It was quick, and subtle, but you knew he was doing it because he wanted you to feel more secure. It helped. 

That evening, after his press obligations were done, the two of you went to look at a few apartments in Manhattan, for Dylan, and he found one that he really liked in Greenwich Village. The two of you talked about it the entire way back to Queens. He took you to see the movie, It, then to a nice dinner at a tapas restaurant in Flushing, then spent the rest of the night in bed with you, arguing over old baseball clips on YouTube and having sex. It was exactly the kind of night the two of you needed to get back to a really good place before he had to leave for Minnesota the next day.

* * *

Dylan woke up first, sighing; the weight of his imminent departure weighing down on his chest. He knew it was only for a few days, and he hated himself for getting so anxious over it, but he had grown deeply attached and absurdly used to waking up next to you. It was absurd because he knew this couldn't last. He knew that the two of you were busy people, and he knew that in the near future, you'd probably be living on different coasts for work, only seeing each other every few weeks when one of you had the time off, but the fact remained that Dylan had gotten used to waking up next to you, and the thought of waking up alone left him feeling hollow. 

Dylan stretched out his limbs, his knuckles hitting the wall behind the pillows and his feet getting close to the end of the mattress. A soft smile settled on his lips when he heard you stir next to him, in reaction to his movements. He huffed out a breath into his cupped hand and inhaled; he'd had worse morning breath before. He turned over onto his left side and stared at you, passed out, quietly breathing, on your stomach with your fist resting under your chin. The morning light peeked through your curtains and settled onto your bare back and neck. He propped his head up in his palm, and pressed his elbow into the mattress, then let his right hand ghost its way down the notches in your spine. You stirred again, a barely audible groan falling from your pouty, morning lips. 

His fingers were a little more calloused, because of gripping baseballs and bats and playing your guitar when he could, in comparison to the velvety feel of the skin that spread across your lower back. He brushed the hair off of your shoulders and onto the pillow and leaned forward, tucking himself closer to your side. Dylan pressed a kiss into the notch at the base of your neck, and you stirred once more; this time with a little more movement and noise. His fingers continued their gentle, mindless stroking, as his slightly chapped lips left faint, yet tender kisses down your neck, shoulders and back. You cooed quietly, and Dylan finally felt your hand, warm from its place next to your mouth, while you slept, dive in between his strands of messy hair. 

He heard you sigh and that was all the incentive he needed to desire even more proximity to you, so Dylan dipped his left hand under the pillow to find yours, leaned his body on top of yours and dipped his right thigh in between your silky legs. He loved the way that your instinctual reaction to feeling his penis, erect or not, pressed against your skin, was to get closer to it, whether or not you were necessarily in the mood for sex. It made him feel endlessly wanted; instinctually wanted, like your body just craved his naturally. He liked the way that your feet hooked up around his ankles, twisting and contorting your bodies until you were a tangled mess together. 

"Don't leave." Your voice was as soft as the sunrise, and it made Dylan's chest stir. You still had not opened your eyes, or turned to fully acknowledge him, or even shown that you were awake other than grabbing for him and saying two words in a garbled, sleepy manner.

Dylan wanted to tell you that he would stay; and he wanted to then stay, but he had to leave in a few hours to catch his flight to Minneapolis for his next premiere. He was simultaneously broken and filled with love because of your plea. You wanted him to stay. He told you that he wanted that too, in the form of more kisses against your warming skin.

He left them behind your ear, on the nape of your neck, in between the steps of your spine, on the wings of your shoulders, and you moaned and breathed heavily and purred and made all sorts of noises that served to be sweet music to Dylan's ears. His hand went back to tracing imaginary lines up from your thighs, over your ass, to your shoulders and you continued laying there, letting soft noises fall from your lips; sometimes they sounded like his name, sometimes they resembled curses, and sometimes they were completely unintelligible, but all of them sounded like sonatas to him. 

Dylan could kiss you all day if someone let him, anything to hear the noises your lips made. He could lay around and touch you all day if someone let him, anything to feel your skin against his. There was something incredibly intimate in the way that his mouth had mapped out your body, his lips knew the best places to kiss and his tongue knew all of the sensitive curves and trails to follow. He didn't know every inch by heart, not yet, that took time; time he was willing to invest, but he knew most of you, and he loved every bit that he had found. 

He knew what the gentle rocking of your body against his meant; it meant that he had left you wanting more. Dylan rolled back over to his side of the bed, careful to not crush the aching hard on that twitched away from his stomach, and rummaged through the nightstand for a condom, but there were none. A pang of panic surged through his body, and he rolled back over towards you. 

"Babe, do you have condoms anywhere else?" 

"No." You grumbled, your head spinning between sleepiness and the heady feeling that Dylan had you trudging through. 

The panic rose and physically manifested itself as a pinkness that dusted the tips of his ears. "Um, I don't have any in my wallet. I forgot to put a new one in after the car last week.."

Dylan paused and gave himself a pitiful stroke. Could he live for three days without having sex with his girlfriend? Of course. Did he have amazing sex after the premiere last night? Absofuckinglutely. Was he going to sulk a little about how he wanted to be connected to you like that but now wasn't going to get to? Probably. He thought of solutions, wondering if he should just go down on you and maybe you'd return the favor; you probably would but he didn't like to presume. He sighed heavily, releasing his cock from his hand and letting it fall against his pelvis. 

"Do you think Maddie and Ryan keep some in their bathroom or something?" Dylan asked of your sister and her fiancé.

"I am not going to wake them up to find out." You mumbled against the pillow. "You haven't been cheating on me, right?"

Dylan's eyes grew wide, and he turned quickly to slide up behind you again. "What? No, I.. Never, I would never."

You snickered, and popped an eye open; turning your head to finally look at him, concern dripping over his every feature. "I didn't think you actually had."

"Then why the fuck did you say that?" The randomness of your question, along with the ache that accompanied the warmth in the pit of his stomach, made him a little prickly suddenly. 

You leaned back and pressed a kiss on his hair jaw, before returning to your position against the pillow. "If we don't have a condom, it's not the end of the world. I'm on birth control and we're committed.." Your shoulders shrugged up once, before you relaxed back against the mattress. "we can still have sex."

Dylan stuttered for a moment. "Uh, should I... should I pull out or something before, or?" 

"Only if that's how you get your jollies." You teased. "You know, I'm not getting any wetter over here just waiting..." 

He couldn't help but laugh over how crude and blunt you were when you were in the right mood. "So demanding."

"And needy, don't forget needy." You chimed in, as you felt Dylan reposition himself behind and on top of you again.

He swiped his fingers in between your legs, stretching and prepping you and gauging how slick you still were. The answer was very. It was hard not to be when he had spent the past forty minutes touching and kissing you in places that he didn't always pay attention to. You ached for him. Dylan filled that ache slowly. He took in every new bump, groove, and curve that your body had, that he hadn't known before when he had used a condom, and inched his way into you at an agonizingly slow rate. You shuddered at the fact that you could feel every part of him inside of you, at the way his right hand gripped your right wrist against the bed, at the way that the lower half of your bodies twisted to lay side-by-side, but your upper halves pressed against the mattress and each other still.

You tried to contain your moans, too aware of how groggy they might sound floating around in the early morning air, as Dylan continued his brutally leisured pace. It felt like he was trying to pull you apart at the seams and remake you; and honestly, he may have been doing just that. Dylan listened to the groans that you strangled off at the source, and, instinctively, his hands made their way up to your chin. He pressed two of his fingers in between your lips and you parted them, letting them rest between your teeth; if he wanted to hear you, then that was what he was going to get. The gasps and urgent breaths only stoked the fire burning inside of Dylan further. The way you said his name was a cross between a moan and a confession, and Dylan honestly could've come right then. 

He held off the best that he could, wanting to relish in the newness of this connection that you had shared dozens of times before, now. More importantly, wanting to get you to the same peak that he was climbing towards. At a certain point, he directed his hand away from your mouth and settled it between your legs, rubbing circles at the same pace as the rocking of his hips. You came before he did, hard and quick, sputtering nonsensical words from low in your throat. He couldn't contain his own moans and curses, letting them roll off his tongue the same way they rolled off yours.

It felt too good. It felt so intimate. There was no going back. 

"Did you want me to pull out?" Dylan asked, pausing his hips from rolling forward; he knew that he was impossibly close, he could feel it pooling at the base of his cock. 

"If that's what you want." You replied through heavy breaths. 

"I don't want to." He admitted. 

You smiled and your voice was low and heady. "Good."

Dylan remained inside of you, connected in the most visceral way possible, even after he came. His hands stroked up and down your arm, his knuckles brushed against your lips and his fingers smoothed out your hair. He buried his face in the pool of y/h/c strands that laid against the pillow and inhaled your familiar scent. He wasn't sure which was a bigger sign of the intense intimacy that had grown between the two of you: the fact that he was allowed to come inside of you or the fact that your shampoo reminded him of home, and warmth and happiness, and love. 

"I think if you ever changed your shampoo, I'd probably just kill myself." Dylan paused when he heard you snicker. "Your perfume too."

"Like the vanilla?" You asked, as you stroked the hair on his forearm, his fingers now tucked under your chin.

"It smells like you. I think I associate the entirety of vanilla with you now."

"So, someone's making cupcakes-"

He interjected with a snort. "And I'm hard as a rock."

You laughed loudly, grateful that the walls in your apartment were thick. "You're an idiot."

"Yea, but you chose me."

You pressed your lips against Dylan's knuckles and left a peppering of kisses. "I did. You're my idiot."

"All yours." He echoed the sentiment. 

The two of you drifted off to sleep for thirty more minutes before the alarm finally went off and Dylan got up to shower. His flight was in three hours and he still had to pack, although his outfits for the last two premieres were with Mary, so really, he just had to pack for the daytime. Dylan wasn't necessarily inclined towards fashion; he put in some effort and he stuck with what he knew looked good, but it wasn't something he gave much thought to. His wardrobe certainly wasn't expansive, so you found it funny that with increasing frequency, Dylan had been breaking up his minimal closet between Los Angeles, Montauk - when he was still living there - and your apartment. He occupied about a half dozen hangers and you had finally dug out a space for him in your drawers, simply because he continued to just leave clothes at your place. Sometimes it was your fault; sometimes you stole pieces to sleep in or to lounge in, but other times, he'd simply mix them in with your laundry or leave them on your floor. You were trying really, really hard not to read into it, but every nerve in your body shouted that he was trying to express his commitment to you. Clothes and a toothbrush: those were the first signs of something really serious, you often wondered to yourself. 

Your eyes fluttered open once more when you heard the door to your bedroom open and Dylan walk in, with a towel slung low on his still cut hips. You cursed him for daring to be wet, a little pink from the hot water, beautiful and naked. You could go again. You knew that he didn't have the time. You closed your eyes to conceal your lust; you weren't in the mood to be teased about it. You heard his feet pad against the hardwood floors of your bedroom, and you hummed when you felt his hot lips and damp beard press into your naked back again. 

"It's official," You mumbled. "you're not allowed to wake me up anyway but this ever again."

Dylan snickered and left a few more kisses, in between your shoulder blades. "I'm going to miss you so much." Dylan whispered, before crouching next to your bed to get eye level with you. You loved the way that his dark eyelashes flitted against his high cheekbones and how he pushed his growing hair back when it was wet. He was beautiful with all his dark hair and tanned skin and dark moles and light freckles.

You sighed, unable to hide your melancholy demeanor because of what he said, reaching out your hand to cup his. He guided them under his chin, resting his balance on them. "I'm sorry I couldn't come with you." 

He shook his head and smiled, his eyes turned up at the corners. "It's okay. The timing just didn't work out. When's your grandma's appointment anyway?"

"About the same time as your flight."

"It's just a follow up, right?" You nodded, and the tiny worry lines that had begun to develop between his brows dissipated. "She's doing okay?" He asked, as he got back up and went to go put on clothes. 

"Can you grab the sweatshirt on the chair please?" You asked him, pointing the gray and blue pullover that was Stiles' from season five of Teen Wolf, that he had given to you that night on the beach when you told him about becoming a fish, before answering his question. 

"Do you want some underwear with that?" He couldn't help but smirk at how you held the sheets up over you. If he knew you at all, he knew you were cold.

You rolled your eyes and smiled. "Yes please." Dylan grabbed the hoodie, then stalked over to your dresser and pulled out the top pair of underwear, then opened the next drawer and grabbed a pair of his boxer briefs that he knew were clean and folded into his section. Your heart skipped a beat over how naturally that movement came to him. He had really settled into your life, which was fine. He was wanted there. He handed you your clothes and pulled on his own underwear, adjusting himself as you finally answered his question from before, while you yanked his hoodie over your head. "And yes, she's fine. I saw her the day before the Mets game, when you went into Manhattan to put a deposit down on that apartment. She still doesn't get how her looper machine thing works, but," You grinned and rolled your eyes, thinking about how stubborn your grandmother was. "we're working on it." 

Dylan laughed and shook his head, looking through his duffel for his sweats. "Babe, have you seen my black sweats?" He asked, still rifling through his clothes, making a bigger mess than necessary, on the floor. "Did I not pack them? I thought I did."

"The joggers?" Dylan shrugged and nodded, he assumed you were correct, but he didn't know the technical term. They were just 'sweats' to him. You pointed to your laundry basket. "You threw them in there when we got here. You wore them on the plane here." You got up to grab the now unfolded clothes off the floor, carrying them in a ball to your bed. "They should still be clean."

"Dope." Dylan exclaimed, as he found them and a pair of his jeans in your laundry basket. He spotted the stain on his pants that made him put them in your laundry pile in the first place, and simply dropped them back on the top. 'Another for the Dylan drawer.' You thought to yourself happily; this was how it started in the first place. 

You sat on your bed, neatly folding and stacking his clothes, readying them to be put back in his duffel. He searched for a shirt, sniffing the ones that you hadn't scooped off the ground and throwing them at your laundry basket. You snickered, and threw a clean one at him from your pile. "You know, I'm going out to Montauk tomorrow to help Julia close up the house and get the rest of your stuff from your room, and if you keep leaving clothes here, and then I have the rest of your clothes from the beach house, you're not going to have any clothes left in L.A., ya doof." You shook your head and grinned, as you went back to folding. 

Dylan tugged the white henley that you had thrown at him over his head, then approached the side of the bed that you were on. He wrapped his arms around your neck, and leaned his left knee on the edge of the mattress. "Do you not want me to leave stuff here? Cause I can just take everything with me." He playfully threatened you. He had been perfectly aware of what he had been doing. He knew it was partly because he didn't have a real place of his own in New York, but if he got the apartment in Manhattan that he put in a bid for, he assumed that he would still probably leave stuff at your place anyway. He hoped you would start doing the same at his. He liked your things, and he definitely liked being amongst them. 

"That's not what I was saying at all." You arched a brow up in amusement, and Dylan laughed, then leaned forward, shifting all his weight into crushing you against the bed, leaving laughing kisses against your face. 

He settled above you, against the pillows, and sighed. "You would tell me if you thought it was too much that I have a little pile of clothes in your drawer and a toothbrush next to yours, right? I don't want to rush you." His tone was a bit more serious then before. 

You shook your head and smiled, squeezing his sweet, upturned nose in between your fingers; lightening the mood again. "Haven't said anything, cause it hasn't bothered me."

Dylan nodded once and smiled. "Thank you for helping out with the beach house and getting the last of my crap, by the way. You don't know how helpful that offer was. Julia really appreciated it too."

You sighed and smirked, a simple shake of your shoulders. "The end of an era." 

Dylan pulled a few pillows out from underneath him and flung them off your bed, for someone that loved keeping his bedroom in order, he certainly seemed to enjoy making yours into a disaster zone. He finally laid on the bed next to you again, his fingers tracing the lines of your jaw and his eyes staring at you adoringly. "It was the best summer I can remember. I'm gonna miss that house so much." His honey brown eyes glimmered, as they bore into your y/e/c ones. "Staying there is the reason I met you." He leaned forward and left an innocent kiss on your nose, then smiled when he saw the curve of your lips. "I'm so glad this turned into more than just, like, uh, summer hookup or whatever."

"Me too." You returned the kiss onto the tip of his nose. Dylan went back to packing shortly after, and you finished folding his clothes. As he reached across the bed to pick up the stack, you remembered something you had been meaning to ask him about earlier. "Dyl."

"Yea?" His head popped up at the foot of your bed. 

"When we get back from Los Angeles, I want to bring you to meet my grandma. I mean, you've met everyone else in my family now, and besides Maddie, who I only see this much because I live with her, I spend the most time with my Grandma and she's like my favorite person on earth, and so are you, so.."

Dylan's face lit up. He'd been waiting for this invitation. "I'd love to."

"Okay, good." You glanced at your hands, nervously fidgeting in your lap, then you glanced up at the clock. "You've gotta go, D." Dylan zipped up his duffel and looked for his shoes. You walked over to the chair that the sweatshirt had been on earlier and grabbed your jeans from the day before, pulling them on and then your Toms. You weren't going with him to Jamaica or the airport; the first time you had to break your goodbye tradition, but you were going to, at least, walk him down to the front door of your building. 

He dropped his duffel onto the sidewalk and turned the bill of his blue Mets cap to the back, so that it wouldn't bump your head when he kissed you goodbye. He linked his fingers around the small of your back and leaned in to kiss you once more. Not wanting to leave or break away from your lips.

You tapped your fingers against his chest, before you spoke. "Text me pictures of what they're putting you in tonight."

"I will." Dylan smiled and shook his head; this was only the four hundreth time you had reminded him. 

"I swear to god if I don't get pictures-"

Dylan snickered and cut your toothless threat off at its knees. "Don't worry, babe. I will send you pictures. Your spank bank will be full tonight."

You laughed loudly, and grinned. "It fucking better be." 

Dylan laughed even harder, if possible, then leaned down to kiss you hard one last time, before finally breaking away and picking up his bag. You adjusted the straps to his backpack, not actually doing anything, just not ready to pull apart completely yet. "I'll let you know when I get on the plane."

"Okay. Have a safe flight."

Dylan left one last peck on your lips before he began to walk backwards, off towards the subway. "I will. Have a good day."

"I will." You watched him for a few more seconds, before heading back inside.

* * *

**Dylan O'Brien** : _Hi, beautiful, I just landed!_

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _hey you :) how was your flight?_

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Pretty quick, but apparently we're going straight to the hotel, I'm getting changed and then going straight to the premiere_

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _0__0 that's quick._

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _but also, picsssssss_.

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _lol you got it, babe_

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _What are you doing tonight?_

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _dinner with Gram and Maddie_. 

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _how late are you working_?

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Oh, you told me that_.

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _And not late at all_. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _How late do you think you'll be at dinner_?

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _we'll probably be home by 10ish_..

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _why_?

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Wanna FaceTime tonight when you get home_?

A massive smile broke across your face, as you walked slowly behind your grandmother and her shopping cart at the grocery store. You had only video chatted twice before, usually it was just texting and phone calls when he was off working; fitting you in when he could. There was something about the fact that he wanted to see your face, when he had seen it that morning, that made your heart flutter. Suddenly, you couldn't wait for the day to be over. 

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _yea_ :) 

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _you okay? you never ask to FaceTime_.

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _I'm fine, just really fucking missing you. Leaving you this morning sucked_. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _A lot_

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _:) i miss you_

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _< 3_

You liked that Dylan could still make your head spin. 

* * *

**Dylan O’Brien** : _As requested..._

 **Dylan O’Brien** :

 

**Y/n Y/L/N:** _omg_. 

**Y/n Y/L/N:** _how dare you?_

**Y/n Y/L/N:** _come home now_. 

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _you perfect asshole. i hate you_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _you look so good_.

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _I hate you too, babe_ <3

 **Y/n Y/L/N:** _have fun_ :)

About an hour passed by before you got another text from him. You almost didn’t hear it chime over how loud your grandmother was watching the news in the other room, but you ran from the kitchen to where you had left your phone in the dining room anyway. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : _Thought this picture was hilarious. Made the guy airdrop this to me. Thank god you showed me how to do that last week_. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** : 

 

**Y/n Y/L/N** : _fucking adorable goofball. gimme_.

* * *

You chewed on your lip and then adjusted your hair for the millionth time, waiting for the video call to connect on your computer. You heard his voice before the pixelated picture focused. 

“ _Babe_?” 

It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours but his voice sent a thrill through your body. Maybe you were spending too much time together, because being apart shouldn’t be this agonizing . You’d ponder that more later. For now, Dylan’s smiling face was on your screen. 

“ _Hi_.” His grin spread from ear to ear. 

“Hi. How was the after party?” Your expression fully mirrored his. 

Dylan snickered and shook his head. “ _A true rager. It’s 11:15 and I’m already in my hotel taking off my shoes._ ” Dylan waved the shoe that he was holding in his hand, at the camera. 

“How was the rest of the day? Tell me everything?” 

You watched as Dylan got up and began moving around the room, looking for water in the mini fridge and fumbling through his suitcase. You could still hear him clearly though. “ _The premiere was packed and that was super cool because it was all people who knew Vince personally, and like, his family and friends, and then just uh, people who wanted to see the film. It was cool. I’ve never done a premiere in a, like, um, regular small city movie theater before; it was kind of awesome and like, intimate? I guess._ ” 

Dylan picked up his computer and brought you into the bathroom with him so that he could brush his teeth. “That was Vince’s wife in that picture you sent me earlier, right?”

“ _Yep, yep, yep, that was Lysa_.” Dylan spit into the sink and tilted the screen up so he could look at you better, licking the toothpaste off the sides of his mouth. “ _Lorenzo, Lysa and I all got to say a little something before the movie started and I was on stage with Lysa and I swear to god, I teared up. She was saying how I truly was Mitch and how, like, it’s easy to see that when you watch the film, and I was just on stage with her, listening to her say this and trying not to cry. It was so sweet_.” He smiled, before he shoved his toothbrush back into his mouth.  

 

“That’s amazing. That’s, like, the best review you can get basically. That makes me so happy.” You were beaming with pride.

“ _Totally._ ” He spit again, cupped some water into his hand, slurped it up and then spit. 

“Do you think people liked the movie, or did you not stick around to find out?”

“ _I actually watched the whole thing this time._ ” Dylan snickered. “ _I thought it would be rude to bow out, plus, Lysa was like clutching my hand for most of it so_..” He shrugged nonchalantly and then set his computer on the bed. 

“What are you doing?” You narrowed your eyes at the screen, where Dylan was undressing. 

“ _Getting ready for bed_.” He smirked. 

“Put a fucking shirt on.” You glared. “I can’t focus when your shirtless.”

“ _But it’s hot in here_.” Dylan pretended to whine. 

“So turn up the AC!” You yelped, and Dylan laughed. 

“ _I don’t think that’s how that works_.” He replied, playfully indignant. 

“That’s **exactly** how that works, you just like teasing me.”

“ _Yes. Yes, I do._ ” He smiled quickly, before he dropped onto his bed and pulled the laptop up next to him. If you turned the lights off and laid on your side, as well, it was almost like the two of you were laying next to each other again. You wished that were so. “ _How was dinner?_ ”

You forgot about your muscular, shirtless boyfriend, heartlessly taunting you from a different time zone, and you let out an exasperated exhale. “Oh my god, Maddie and I took fucking sniper fire tonight from my Gram.”

Dylan chuckled and wrinkled his brow. “ _What do you mean? What happened_?”

“She just very bluntly was like to Maddie, ‘When are you and Ryan going to get married and stop living in sin?’”

“ _Oh no_. _Maddie's least favorite question of all time._ ” Dylan let out a sympathetic laugh. 

“Seriously. Then she was like ‘I want great-grandchildren.’ and Maddie was just like groaning and then my Grandmother looks at me and is all ‘You don’t even have a boyfriend, so I’ve given up on you giving me great-grandchildren.’“

“ _Um_..” Dylan sputtered for a moment, sitting up on his elbow slightly. “ _Have you not told her about me?_ ”

You laughed and shook your head, your voice raising in frustration. “No! I have! She’s just losing her fucking mind.”

“ _Oh, okay._ ” The smile and relaxed posture against his pillow returned. “ _That’s kind of fucked up. She basically said you were useless because she thought you didn’t have a boyfriend_.”

You nodded, finally adjusting on to your side to mirror his position, except you had a shirt on, and pulled a blanket up to your neck. “Yea, I know. I was there.” You sighed, and then rolled onto your back. “She’s honestly, not that she had much of one in the first place, just to be clear, but she’s honestly losing her filter and her mind and it’s just... Mads and I are..” You trailed off and shook your head. 

“ _You okay?_ ” His voice got low and gentle. 

You forced a small smile onto your lips and turned back onto your side. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. Her cardiologist wasn’t necessarily thrilled with what he was seeing, so they’re seriously discussing a Pacemaker, but she’s almost ninety and having surgery where they put her under anesthesia...” You paused and Dylan filled in the rest for you. 

“ _Not exactly ideal, huh?_ ” You pursed your lips and shook your head. Silence filled the call, until Dylan sighed. “ _God, I wish I was there right now. I hate not being able to touch you and hold you._ ”

His words broke your heart slightly. You hated that too. You sent him a half hearted smile and snuggled a little closer to the computer in front of you, as if it were actually him. “I hate that too.”

You talked for another hour until it got too late on your end. Dylan had an early flight to Los Angeles, anyway. As you were about to hang up the call, Dylan stopped you.

“ _Wait, wait, wait..._ ” Your sleepy eyebrows twitched up in curiosity. “ _I’d fall asleep better if we just stayed on_..” 

You couldn’t help the goofily smitten grin that spread across your face. “I would too.” 

Dylan got up before you and ended the call, shot you a ‘ _Morning, beautiful. You looked so cute when I woke up. We’re going to have to do that more often. I’m boarding my flight in about ten. I’ll text you when I land. Have a good day._ ’ text. 

Five hours without even the option of talking to him was now your fate. You decided to go into the office to pass the time.

* * *

" _I got stuck in traffic, babe. I'm pulling up to Arrivals now though._ "

"Okay, I'll see you in a second." You murmured back into the phone, nervous energy bubbling up in the pit of your stomach over seeing him again, finally, before hanging up.

There was something about this specific trip that was just painfully long, even though it had barely been three days away from each other. You saw his smiling face in the windshield, and you picked up your pace to make it to his car quicker. You just wanted to kiss him. 

So you did. You got in the passenger seat, grabbed at his shirt collar and yanked his lips towards yours. He smiled into the connection, and his hands tangled into your hair. You were just happy to be together again. 

The two of you talked about how your flight was and where he was going to bring you to get breakfast before he, unfortunately, had to drag you to do some press with him. He knew how tired you were from your red eye flight, but with early morning Los Angeles traffic, he wasn't going to have enough time to get home to drop you off and get to work. You told him that as long as he provided you with coffee, you didn't mind. You sat in the car in a comfortable silence, reacquainting yourself with the palm trees and smog. You were happy to be back in California. The short trips with Dylan were making it begin to feel like a home away from home. 

Your hand sat intertwined with his, in his lap, as he drove up the 405 to Studio City, and you happily hummed along to the music playing from Dylan's phone. The song changed to Such Great Heights by The Postal Service and the grin on your face grew toothy and wide. You squeezed Dylan's hand and sat up straighter in your seat, bobbing your head back and forth, playfully, to the constant beat of the song. Dylan glanced over and laughed at your goofy dancing. 

"I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles in our eyes are mirror images and when we kiss they're perfectly aligned."

Dylan cut your singing off. "You know it's funny that this came on; it came on at the bar that Posey and I were at last night and I had mentioned to him how much you loved The Postal Service, and he seriously thinks you're the coolest person ever now." 

You cocked your head to the side, now fully looking at him, with a puzzled smile. "How did you know that I love The Postal Service. I don't think we've ever talked about them before." You shook your head. "I didn't even know that you listened to them."

In actuality, you had been singing a different TPS song in the shower for three weeks towards the end of summer and Dylan finally looked up what the song was, but he went with the answer that he thought would make you happier. "I know you." He shrugged, before bringing your knuckles up to his lips to leave a long kiss. 

He was right. The simple acknowledgement that he knew you inside and out made your heart swell in your chest. You almost blurted out how much you loved him right there, but you managed to keep it in. "Yea, you do." You smiled back at him. 

You went back to singing, and Dylan went back to gazing longingly at you when traffic allowed him. He loved you. He knew it in every fiber of his being. He felt it with all of his heart. He was certain that the two of you were between the stages of infatuation and actual love, and he knew that he was leaning way more towards love, and he was beyond happy with that knowledge. 

* * *

"Can I ask you a question?" You whispered in his ear, in the back of the car filled with Mary, her assistant, and a few other people from Dylan's team. He glanced over and nodded, catching you eyeing him in his custom made, Ermenegildo Zegna suit. "Can we figure out a way to have sex with you still in most of this suit later? Cause it's doing things for me."

Dylan snorted. Loudly. Heads turned to see him covering his mouth and nose with his left hand, while his right hand held a vice grip on your knee. "Yes." It was all he could manage to say, while nodding more than necessary. 

You glanced up at the other people sitting in front of the two of you and noticed that everyone was back to their phones. You slid your hand up his thigh and Dylan took a deep breath in, the grip on your leg tightening even more. "Good. Cause you look so fucking good in this suit."  

Dylan pressed his tongue into his top left canine and he grinned at you, impishly. He forced his left hand to grab your hand before it reached up to his groin and turned his chub into a full blown erection. He whispered back. "I will work it out. Whatever you want, you get." 

The Los Angeles premiere was more hectic and busy. The entire cast was there, instead of just Dylan and Taylor, and there were way more celebrities that you instantly recognized. You also didn't have the companionship of Nick or Julia this time around, so you waited for Dylan inside the famous Chinese Theater and were overjoyed when he finished his press line and pictures and got to come watch half of the movie with you, before most of the cast and crew left the theater and got swept off to the after-party, also much larger and more star studded than the New York one.

You liked sitting in on this screening though. You got to actually sit with Dylan, and his hand kept trying to find your thighs, pushing up the bottom of your knee-length white velvet dress with a blue and black floral pattern. You had riled him up, which you were pleased with, because he had riled you up as well. 

"No, no, no, I swear to god, please do not take the jacket off just yet." You begged him, when you arrived at the afterparty. 

"No?" 

You bit down hard on your lower lip, and used the guise of straightening his tie to pull him closer to you. You knew that most of the eyes of the party were on you, but you couldn't find it in you to care. "No," You whined. "it completes the look. How often do I get to see you in a three-piece, custom made Italian suit?"

"Never?" 

"Ding ding ding." You smirked up at him. 

"And here I thought you were trying to get me undressed as quickly as possible." He teased. 

"Later, obviously." You rolled your eyes playfully, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. 

"So, you don't even want to see how good I might look if I lose the jacket, keep the vest on and roll up my sleeves?"

"You make a very good point. Take the fucking coat off." Dylan laughed loudly, his fingers digging into your hips. 

"I promise, you can undress me very slowly later... As long, as I get to take that dress off you first... and fast." 

"Whatever you want." You grinned, and Dylan leaned down to kiss you fully. 

Mary pulled Dylan away shortly after, and you ran into Posey on your way to the bar, who then introduced you to Ryan Kelley, Linden Ashby, Ian Bohen, and Holland Roden. Posey decided to take you under his wing for the rest of the night, while Dylan or his parents, who you had talked to at length earlier, were preoccupied. You kept getting glimpses of Dylan, being dragged around the room to talk to people, and he looked so happy. You were all smiles because he was all smiles. 

"Am I going to get to enjoy this party at some point, Mare?" Dylan asked, beginning to lose steam when it came to all of the Hollywood big-wigs that he had to talk that evening. 

"Yes, just one more person that you should get a picture with." Mary popped up on her tippy toes and scanned the room. "Found her. Come on." She dragged Dylan behind her, by the wrist, and pulled him towards a short, young woman, in a black suit with her dirty blonde hair parted in the middle and slicked back into a low pony tail. "Look who came to support you." She smiled, pushing Dylan in front of her, and prompting the young woman to turn around. 

"You have got to be fucking kidding me. Mary. No." Dylan began to turn around and walk back towards where he hoped you still were with his Teen Wolf family. 

"Nope, no, stay. One picture. For me. Please?" Mary, pulled on his wrist and kept him from walking away. 

"No."

"Excuse me, a picture of these two, please?" Mary got the attention of a photographer, and suddenly, Dylan felt like he had no choice. "Smile."

Dylan hesitantly put his arm around the woman's waist and put on his best fake smile for the camera. "Great! Great picture!" The photographer reported, as Mary walked over to look at his screen. 

"Hey, I loved the movie, Dyl." Britt murmured, as he broke away from her.

"Thanks." The ever cordial movie star mumbled, in return. "Anyway, I should-"

"Did you get that script for the Luca Guadagnino movie?" Britt asked, trying to create a conversation with her former love. 

Dylan sighed and shook his head, glancing over at Mary who was trying not to hover. "Of course she gave you the script for that too. Let me guess, you're auditioning for Sophie?"

Britt smiled softly, and gripped her drink in her hand. "Yea, I already did. I've had two call backs too. I don't know. I really want the movie. It's a great script. You going for Adam then?"

"Yea, maybe." Dylan shook his head. "My audition is in a couple of days... Listen, I have people to get back to."

"Your girlfriend?" Britt stepped back in front of Dylan, as he tried to make his escape. 

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Yea, as a matter of fact. I want to get back to my girlfriend. Speaking of which, didn't your boyfriend have something to say about you coming to MY movie premiere?" 

Britt shrugged and sunk her head a little lower. "We broke up. It wasn't working, so no, he had nothing to say about me coming here tonight."

"Allllright," Dylan clicked his tongue against his teeth. "with that, I definitely have to go. Thanks for coming. Have a good night." He walked away before he could be stopped again. 

You were in the bathroom when he managed to find Posey and the rest of the group. That was when a couple of his female friends from high school, who he had kept up with after all this time, approached him in a frenzy. "Oh my fucking god, was that Britt that we just saw you talking to?"

Dylan quirked his brows up and pursed his lips. "Mary's handy-work." 

"Does Y/n know she's here?" Dylan shook his head. "Dude, you seem like you need a smoke. Slip away outside for a minute?" Dylan looked around the room for you, and when you still had not made your way back, he nodded and followed his friends out to the back patio. 

He sat on an ottoman towards the back of the party, taking long drags of the cigarette and instantly relaxing. "God, I haven't smoked in like," He languidly ran his hand over his face and into his hair. "months. Not since Y/n and I started seriously dating. She has a real thing against it for some reason."

"Not the most healthy habit in the world." Dylan's friend, Lindsey chimed in. 

Dylan chuckled and exhaled the smoke from his lungs. "Yea, guess not."

"Um, Dylan..." Michaela, Dylan's other high school friend, spoke hesitantly. He followed her finger, pointing off in the opposite direction, and saw your face staring back at him. 

"Oh fuck."

You didn't look mad. You looked more like you had just walked in on something you weren't meant to see. "Sorry." You muttered, before turning around and walking back into the sea of people behind you. 

"Shit, shit, shit. Y/N!" Dylan yelled a little louder than the conversations going on around him, as he got up to chase you. He caught you quickly. Tall heels did not aid in a fast getaway. "Baby, come here, let me.. explain." 

He pulled you off to the side, near the caterers trash piles, where people were not congregating. "You smoke?"

"No." 

"Did I just imagine that then or are you just lying to me now?" Your voice was shaky, yet calm, an anomaly even you couldn't begin to explain. 

"I mean, no, I don't smoke anymore. I used to... A little." He grimaced, not wanting to tell you the truth, but recognizing that you could see through his lies. He was making this worse. Somehow. 

"You can smoke a little?"

"Sort of?" His grimace grew deeper and more pained. 

"I don't even know what the fuck is happening right now, but I feel like this is not the place for this." You tried to walk away, and towards the bar, from him, but Dylan gently pulled at your elbow, keeping you in front of him. "God, you smell like it."

"I'm sorry, listen, this is the place for it, because I cannot go through another premiere with you being angry with me. This is not a pattern that I like so far, at all." His hands released you, but rubbed up and down your arms, trying to soothe you. 

You could feel the frustration growing inside of you. You felt less meek this time around. At Catch, after his last premiere, the fight that the two of you had was really no one's fault; at least, it wasn't yours and Dylan's faults. This one felt like it was easier to assign blame to. 

"Tell me what the fuck is going on then."

Dylan sighed and thought about where to start. "I used to smoke. Regularly."

"What the fuck." You whispered, out of pure basic reaction to that statement. 

Dylan squeezed the sides of his face with his hands, trying to rub out the oncoming tension headache. He could feel it sneaking up from his neck. "I didn't want to tell you because literally one of the first things I found out about you was that you hated smoking, and I just wanted you to like me, and then I quit."

"When?"

Dylan thought about it for a minute. "Um, the last time I really remember doing it was the night Britt came to my hotel room in L.A., after comic con."

"So, July, after we had already been hanging out for a month. Cool. You lied to me for a month."

"Wait, wait, wait, stop." He pulled you back towards your previous spot, off in the shadows of the party, where no one was bothering to glance over. Except for one person. "Oh shit."

"What?" You sniped at him, then turned to look at what he was gaping at, behind you. "Is that..?" You looked back up at Dylan, who was looking at you with sorrow. 

"Britt's here. I- I'll explain when she leaves."

"Hi, I just wanted to introduce myself." Britt approached with her hand reached out to shake yours, in front of her. "I'm Britt. Dylan never told me your name."

"That's because I don't talk to you." 

You stepped back towards Dylan, finding comfort in the way that his hand instinctively connected with the small of your back, mooring himself to you protectively. Regardless of whatever fight the two of you were in, twelve seconds before, he was still your greatest source of trust and comfort. You decided to be cordial, not wanting to make a scene. 

"Hi, I'm Y/n. It's nice to meet you." You shook your hand. "I like your suit. It's very pretty."

"Oh," Britt glanced down at her outfit, and stuttered for a moment, not expecting you to be as sincerely kind as you were being. "Thanks. I like your dress. Is that velvet?"

You glanced down at your dress and smiled as genuinely as possible. "Yea, it is. Did you get to see the movie?" 

Britt glanced back and forth between your face and Dylan's, then down to your hip, where Dylan's fingers suddenly gripped. She couldn't be rude to you now that you were being nice to her. That would make her look twenty times worse, so Britt played nice as well. "I did. Dylan did a great job. It was fun getting to see all the stunts and stuff he'd told me about shooting."

"Oh, I bet. I've heard him talk about them in press interviews for like the past two weeks and it was great to finally get to see it in action finally." You challenged her with a smile. 

"Right... Well, I just wanted to introduce myself. It was nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand again and you shook it quickly. "Good to see you, Dyl." She looked like she was about to try to hug him, so Dylan stuck his body further behind yours, pulling you tighter against him. He nodded once, without a smile or any pleasantries, and waited for her to leave. 

You waited until she disappeared into the crowd, before you turned around. "I'm gonna go call a cab or something."

Dylan kept his fingers attached to your hip. "Absolutely not. I'm gonna text Mary and tell her that I'm leaving. I talked to everyone I had to tonight anyway. I'm going home with you right now." Dylan pulled out his phone and typed out a message to his agent, then pressed the number that she had sent him for the car that was meant to take him home when the time came. "Hey, man, this is Dylan O'Brien, I was hoping to head home." Dylan paused to listen to the man speaking on the other end of the call. "Great, thanks, man. We'll see you downstairs by the valet in a few."

* * *

"Like, I find it super hard to believe that you didn't grow up hearing the same horror stories about smoking that I did. For fucks sake, didn't they run TRUTH ads during Teen Wolf?" 

Dylan sighed. "I know, I know. I'm just an idiot, okay? But just let me just tell you from the beginning, okay?" You remained silent, arms folded across your chest and an impatient expression painted across your face, but you gave him the go-ahead. "Okay, so Britt smokes, and some of the cast of Teen Wolf does, and most of The Maze Runner cast does. I don't know. It's like a Hollywood thing, weirdly enough. It keeps you up during long shoots, and it calms down my anxiety when I need it to, and I don't know, it's just-" He sighed. He'd never thought about it this much before. "I got into a huge fight with Britt, which lasted a few weeks, back when I was shooting The Scorch Trials, and I was in New Mexico, and she was in Atlanta shooting something and my anxiety was insane, and one day, one of the Maze Runner guys offered me a cigarette, said it would calm me down, and so I took it, and it did, and I just kept doing it."

You remained stubborn in your silence, so Dylan talked out of nervousness, in the backseat of the black SUV that was taking the two of you back to his house in Burbank. 

"I've sort of quit on and off, here and there, mostly when Britt and I would go on breaks, I guess my anxiety gets really bad when I'm with her or around her and I just crave my cigarettes."

"So, that's what happened tonight?" You finally spoke, and Dylan leaned in, encouraged by the sound of your voice. 

He nodded. "Yea, Mary invited Britt, for who the fuck knows why, and she ambushed me with her and made us take a few pictures together, and then I went looking for you, because you ease my anxiety, just being around you does it." You softened your posture a bit at his comment, and Dylan noticed. He reached out, across the gap between your bodies, and curled his fingers near your knee, hesitant to actually touch you yet. "I couldn't find you, but Lindsey and Michaela offered me a smoke and honestly, I was so panicky and just fucking dumb, that I accepted. I didn't want you to find out. I know how much you hate it. I know how stupid of a habit it is-"

"Do you though?" You cut him off. "You are fully aware of what it could do to you, right?" Dylan nodded, shamefully. "I just..." You huffed in frustration, and leaned towards him, already tired of being angry with him. You understood why he did what he did, in hiding his bad habit from you. "I just would be fucking devastated if you got cancer or couldn't play softball because your lungs are so shitty or just lived a shorter life because you are filling your body with literal fucking rat poison."

"I'm not sure that they put rat poison in cigarettes anymore." Dylan interjected. 

Your face dropped, and you could not have looked less amused even if you had tried. "I don't think semantics are what you should be trying to push right now, O'Brien." 

Dylan couldn't help but smile a little. "Right. Sorry."

"Anything else you've been lying about? Meth problem? Weird musical porn addictions?"

"I never should've told you about that Alice in Wonderland porn musical."

"It's forty-eight minutes, I don't know why you wouldn't tell me about that. It was hilarious."

Dylan laughed a little louder, a smile suddenly forming at the corners of his mouth. "I'm so sorry I fucked tonight up."

You shook your head. "You quit, right? This was just a slip-up?"

Dylan nodded profusely. "I haven't even thought about smoking in months, I swear. I just, seeing Britt makes me feel so anxious and the thought of the two of you in the same room together practically gave me a panic attack."

You sighed, and laced your fingers in between his, on the seat in between you two. "I get that. Just don't lie to me about stuff. You could've just told me in the first place."

"Feels pretty stupid that I didn't now, in retrospect."

"I bet." You teased him, quietly. 

"Can I sit closer to you? We're still like thirty minutes from the house." You nodded, and watched as Dylan unbuckled his seatbelt, slid to the middle of the bench in the back of the SUV, and buckled back in next to you. You leaned in against him, and rested your head in the crook of his neck. "Do I smell gross?"

"Yes, and I hate you."

"I know, baby, I am really sorry."

"It's okay." You relented, finally letting him off the hook. 

"I can't believe Britt introduced herself to you. She seemed stunned at how nice you were." Dylan changed the subject, still on edge about all of the evenings events. 

"I can't believe how nice I was either, but I figured that it would make her feel crappy that you were dating someone kind, rather than letting her feel superior cause you had moved on to someone that was a bitch."

"I was impressed with how you handled it." You simply hummed in reply, digging your nose deeper into his neck, trying to inhale his cologne and not the lingering smell of stale cigarette smoke. Dylan held you tight against him. "You looked gorgeous tonight. You still do. I had such a hard time keeping my eyes off of you all night."

"I could say the same for you."

Dylan snickered and then quietly cooed, when he felt you press a soft, warm kiss on his neck. He melted into your side, as your hand snaked up his chest and poked between the buttons of his shirt, stroking his bare flesh underneath. He turned his head finally, and hovered his lips over yours, teasing you with his warm breath. "Stop me if I taste like smoke, okay?" You nodded, until he finally slipped his tongue in your mouth.

You sighed at the way his fingers dug into your hipbone and your cheek. He did taste like smoke, but you chose to get over the foulness of it just this once. Dylan looked too good and you wanted the reconnect too badly. You needed it. You hated fighting with him. The awkward tension that hung around after always filled you with anxiety and exhaustion. You simply wanted to bury yourself in the gorgeous man wearing a custom made Italian suit. 

The two of you barely made it through the front door, before he was unzipping the back of your dress, and you were stumbling out of your heels, and he was dropping his jacket to the floor. He backed you against a wall and kissed at your neck, while your fingers made quick work of his vest. Soon that was on the floor as well. His tie had been folded and stuffed into his pocket in the car, so all you had to do was get him out of his shirt and pants. Impatience is a bitch though. 

You dropped to your knees, still pinned between Dylan and the wall of his foyer, and you pulled at the bottom of his shirt, untucking it from the pants, which you quickly undid. You pulled his trousers and boxer briefs down his thighs, and quickly popped his growing length into your mouth. Your fingers held up the hem of his shirt, as your mouth wrapped around the head of his cock. You loved the way he tasted. You loved the fullness of Dylan on your tongue. You loved the noises that your mouth could elicit from him. You loved the way you knew how you had him in every way when he was in between your lips. You sucked hard and slow, just the way you knew Dylan liked it, and soon, your ears were graced with the sound of your boyfriend's quiet moans. 

"Fuck." Dylan breathed out the curse sharply, and your eyes shot up to his. "Come here, come here." 

"What's wrong?" You asked, as you got to your feet and wiped the spit from your chin. 

Dylan smiled, pressed a kiss to your lips, not minding that he could taste himself on your tongue, and shook his head. "Nothing is wrong. I've got you. Nothing could be wrong."

He picked you up, walked out of his pants and shoes, tossed you on the couch, and then spent the rest of the night burying himself in you and making you tremble. 

 


	17. CBS Television City, Los Angeles, CA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan reveals a secret and has a secret revealed to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a rough one to write, for me, for some reason. I’m still not entirely sure what that reason was. But I guess they can’t all be a favorite, you know? 
> 
> Umm, the first part, the Late Late Show is sort of an homage to #murderousboo, which for those who do not know is a random nickname i came up with for Mitch Rapp like months and months ago, and i wrote that section months and months ago. But, I’ve been alluding to it for several chapters now. Like there is a moment where Dylan is out with Tyler or something and he receives a text from you and essentially rolls his eyes, and that was supposed to be him getting a murderous boo picture from you.
> 
> My obsession with ‘Call Me By Your Name’ is clearly prevalent in this series now, seeing as the director, Luca, that Dylan talks about is Luca Guadagnino, director of CMBYN, which Dyl actually said in an interview recently he really wants to see so ten points to Ravenclaw and my psychic bullshit.
> 
> As i stated in previous chapters, it was easier just to name your grandmother, so she is named Eileen. okay. cool. good talk.

After the somewhat tension filled evening, the night before, Dylan was looking for ways to right his wrongs. He woke up extra early, before he had to go do press with Taylor for ‘ _American Assassin_ ’, and got you breakfast to wake up to. He left you a sweet note and keys to his car, in case you wanted to go somewhere while he was working. 

Mostly, however, you milled around his house that day, accepting a few more furniture deliveries on his behalf and flipping through his books and old scripts. Eventually, you picked Julia up at the airport and headed over to the CBS Studios to watch Dylan and Michael Keaton tape their appearance on ‘ _The Late Late Show with James Corden_ ’.

What you didn’t realize was that Dylan had figured out a way to try to rectify, at least, one of his mistakes from the past two weeks.

* * *

“[Last week, and this I know is a huge thing for you, you threw the first pitch at the Mets game. How was it? Were you nervous?](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DmRLzR09uKyM&t=NjdlZDhkYjg2MDM5MmNhNDQ1ZGIwMDQ2Y2FiMTcyNDQyZDg2YTM5ZixDSDNUckwzUg%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170527084762%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-17-dylan-obrien&m=1)” James changed the subject away from the movie itself.

Dylan smiled softly and cocked his head back slightly, as he answered. “Of course, yeah. I was nervous for about six weeks before it happened, too. Everyday,  _everyday_ , at some point, it would enter my mind, like uh- cause you know, this is - arguably  _nothing_ means more to me than baseball and the Mets.” Dylan paused, before he backtracked slightly, and began gesticulating with his hands in front of him. “Um, you know, maybe,  _MAYBE_ , my family..” He paused again, and then furrowed his brow in playful seriousness. “ _Huge maybe_.”

“So, it would stand to reason then that you were incredibly nervous.” James got Dylan back on track.

He chuckled quietly and nodded. “ _Absolutely_ …” He paused for just a moment, before he decided to share an anecdote that hadn’t been agreed upon beforehand, but he thought was funny enough. “ _Actually_ , there was a point where I even woke up in bed one night in a cold sweat, and I woke my girlfriend up too, by accident, and she was just like, uh, ’ _Are you thinking about the first pitch again?_ ’ and I was, like genuinely panting and just, um, a total mess, and was like ’ _Yea_..’, and,” Dylan paused to cackle quietly, shaking his head with a grin. “Y/n, my girlfriend, just kind of groaned and turned over, like, completely done with my crap, like, ’ _He woke me up over this **AGAIN**._ ’ So, yea, yea, I was indescribably nervous, but it went great, I didn’t mess up, and it was probably the best moment of my entire life.” The audience, James and Michael all applauded for Dylan’s accomplishment, and he nodded and sheepishly smiled.

Your mouth was basically on the stage floor because this was the first time that he had said your name in an interview, and he chose to do it on  _national_ ,  _live_   _television_. You didn’t even have enough time to process it because before you knew it, they were moving on to continue talking about you.

“Well, speaking of your girlfriend,” James began, taking the opportunity for the segue. “You told us about another little story involving her and a few of your friends.” Dylan nodded. “A bit of a joke formed because of something she has been doing, correct?”

Dylan laughed and his smile grew somewhat impish. You had a sinking feeling that you knew what was about to happen, and your cheeks began to blush at the thought. “Yea, yea, I brought you some pictures.”

“Yes, I have them right here.” James held up the first photo of Posey standing in front of an ‘ _American Assassin_ ’ billboard in downtown Los Angeles. “Okay, so explain what you brought us. That’s your friend from ‘ _Teen Wolf_ ’, Tyler Posey, is it not?”

“Yep, yep, yep, that’s my best bud, Tyler,” Dylan nodded and then directed his finger down to the caption at the bottom of the picture. “but, the important part here is not his kissy face up towards me, as Mitch Rapp, on the billboard-”

“Oh, I thought the kissy face was for me.” Keaton chimed in, garnering a laugh from the audience.

“Probably was, from Posey.”

“But I have, about,” James paused to count the pictures stuck to cardboard cards in his hand. “seven more of these pictures, so how did this become a thing?”

Dylan laughed again, and pointed at the caption once more, before James began slowly shuffling through the photos. “So, Posey wrote ’ _hanging out with the murderous boo_ ’, and…” Dylan paused to laugh, covering his mouth with his hand, and searching for you in the audience. “Basically, my girlfriend lives in New York and I was in Los Angeles for work one day last month and I got a picture text from her and it was just her next to an  _Assassin_  poster in the subway and she captioned it, like, ’ _you left me, so I replaced you with a new man… a murderous boo_.’”

“ _Murderous boo_? How did she come up with it?” James asked. “This is the picture, correct?”

Dylan glanced at the new photo in James’ hand. “Yep, yep, that’s her.” Dylan paused to face the audience. “I asked them to cover her face because she isn’t famous and I don’t want people hounding her, but that’s the original picture that started this whole thing.”

“And you said, that she didn’t know you were going to tell me about this tonight?”

Dylan cackled and nodded. “Yep! Yea, no, she’s in the audience right now with my sister, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to kill me later, but like, the rest of the pictures in your hand-”

“They are all of Dylan’s girlfriend in different places around New York and Los Angeles with her ’ _murderous boo_ ’.” James filled in, sifting through the pictures for the camera and audience. You covered your face fully with your hands, completely beet red with embarrassment, laughing as Julia elbowed you in the side and laughed with Dylan and the audience. “But, this one is my favorite.” James held up the last picture, depicting you and Dylan standing beside an ‘ _American Assassin_ ’ poster together, with Dylan looking incredibly unamused and you hugging the wall that the poster was plastered on, completely ignoring your real life boyfriend for a picture of Mitch.

“Yea, so the last one was when I was back in New York, like, last week, doing press and the first premiere, and she saw the poster and was just like ’ _Oh my god, it’s Mitch, it’s my murderous boo!_ ’ and I was like, ’ _ **YOU REALIZE THAT I AM MITCH! I PLAY HIM. I’M YOUR MURDEROUS BOO!**_ ’ and Y/n was just like, ’ _You wish you were him_.’ and basically, these pictures tell the story of how I became jealous of my own character.” Dylan shrugged and the audience, Michael, and James all laughed loudly.

“What is it that she likes about Mitch more than you?” Keaton inquired with a chuckle.

“Is it the kickass gun and fighting sequences?” James tried to guess.

Dylan laughed and shook his head. “It’s literally the beard. She loves the beard. She wants me to grow it back.”

“Which you don’t even have in the poster!” James pointed out, holding up the last picture again.

Dylan laughed and nodded. “I know, and that thing took me six months to grow, so it is not happening.” Dylan searched for you in the audience again, and finally found you, sunk low in your seat, burying your face in Julia’s arm. “ _Sorry, honey._  She’s gonna kill me for this later.” He grinned, when you nodded and smiled.

* * *

* * *

Dylan tossed his keys into the bowl by the front door and let his backpack drop off his shoulder, letting it thump loudly onto his hardwood floor. The moment of impact between his half full bag and the medium brown, chestnut floors, was also the moment that Dylan noticed you, curled into a ball, under a blanket, fast asleep on the couch in his living room.

“ _Shit_.” He whispered to himself, taking care to quietly close the front door.

He toed off his shoes and unbuttoned his dark blue button down, draping it over the back of a chair, revealing a crisp white t-shirt underneath. He softly padded across the floor to get to you on the couch, noting the television softly playing in the background. 

He had left so early that morning, that all he wanted to do was scoop you up, carry you back to bed and fall back asleep until noon. Dylan thought about it for a minute, but considering he hadn’t been working out since ‘ _American Assassin_ ’ filming was over, he wasn’t entirely sure that, without his adrenaline pumping, he could pick up a bag of oranges, let alone a sleeping human person. He’d have to settle with waking you up, quickly helping you back to his bedroom, and hoping you could fall back asleep with him.

He crouched next to you on the couch, the tops of his knees pressed into the cushion, and he pressed his forehead into your back, inhaling your scent and enjoying the consistent sound of your breathing. He was overcome by the realization of how inexplicably happy he was to see you napping, on his sofa, when he came home and how much it meant to him that you being in his living room when he came home from an audition, when he came home from anywhere, felt normal and right. You had carved out your place in his life and it was remarkable to Dylan how naturally you fit. 

To him, it was becoming harder and harder to remember his life before you were in it. 

He didn’t want to think of it. 

 _You belonged in his world and he belonged in yours_.

Instinctually, Dylan had been pressing his forehead and nose deeper into the curve of your spine, wanting more closeness, more of the heady vanilla aroma of you that went straight to his head and made him dizzy with want and comfort. You stirred, a soft groan escaping your lips, and Dylan pulled away, saddened to clearly have woken you up. It was still so early, barely ten past nine in the morning, and the last thing he wanted to do was wake you up from a peaceful rest for the second time that day.

“Go back to sleep, beautiful. I’m sorry.” Dylan shushed you quietly, and began to get up. “Go back to sleep.”

Another groan climbed it’s way up your throat, and suddenly, your fingers were latched around his wrist, prohibiting his silent escape. “ _How_ …” You paused to wet your lips, your dry mouth catching the breathy words on your tongue. You tried again. “How’d it go?”

You turned, puffy from sleep in the cheeks and droopy eyed, but happy to see your boyfriend nonetheless. Dylan sighed, contentedly, and let you drag him back towards the couch. He laid down next to you, letting you reposition your head in the crook of his elbow and your hands under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin against the warmth of yours. He smiled gently and wove his legs in between yours.

Even if his audition had gone horribly, curling up next to you on his couch would have made Dylan’s morning the best morning he’d ever had.

He loved you so sincerely, even the smallest things, that involved you, made his whole damn week.

Dylan drank in the feeling of your fingers gently pushing against his bare chest, under his shirt, and he reached up with his free hand to run his fingers through your hair, softly grazing his nails against your scalp. He spoke in a hushed tone, regardless of the fact that the two of you were the only one’s in his house; breaking the comfortable silence felt like a crime.

“It went amazing.” He finally answered.

Your eyes fluttered open and a soft smile engulfed your mouth. “ _Really_?” You whispered back. “Tell me.”

Dylan couldn’t help the toothy grin that overtook his own face. This conversation had been all he had been looking forward to since the moment he walked out of the audition room. You were the only person he wanted to tell, not because he wanted to keep the process a secret, but just because getting to tell you his stories, or about his day; he couldn’t explain it. He knew you always cared about how his day was going and he knew that you were always enthralled by his stories, and having someone more than willing to hear about the mundane parts of his day, or the inner workings of his unfocused mind, or an anecdote about his childhood, felt amazing.

He had a partner in you, and it felt effortless.

Dylan leaned his head forward to kiss the tip of your nose. It was hard to deny himself of the small moments that he could seize when he was in this close of proximity to you. “Okay, well, Luca was there and I talked to him and the head writer for, like, uh, I don’t know, forty-five minutes.”

“Holy shit.” You whispered, with a toothy smile.

Dylan’s fingers, on his left hand, traced the line of your jaw, behind your ear, as he continued speaking. “I know, and I read through two scenes with this one girl, who I’ve seen at a few auditions before - she actually auditioned for the role of Allison on ’ _Teen Wolf_ ’, once upon a time - but then they had me audition with two other girls and they were all so good-”

You cut him off, still speaking just above a whisper. “They had you audition with three different people, that’s good, right? Like, to keep swapping out people to fit with you, and not swapping out guys to fit with a certain actress?”

Dylan bobbed his head a little, back and forth, against the couch. “It could be good, it could mean that they are trying to find someone who has chemistry with me, or it could mean that they don’t think I have chemistry with any of the women they’ve picked and eventually they are going to move on to a different guy who does have chemistry with one of the actresses.”

You pouted momentarily, jutting your pursed lips out, before scrunching up your face in protest. “Okay, well, I’m sure that’s not the case. It’s your third audition for this role, they wouldn’t keep asking you back if they didn’t like you, and you talked to Luca and the screenplay writer, so.. How’d you feel like you were doing?”

“ _Honestly_?” A meek smile returned to Dylan’s face, erasing all of the worry lines that had creased into his forehead. “I think I was doing some of my best work yet, and they were responding to it really positively, and Luca..” Dylan let out a happy huff. “Y/n, we really hit it off. He told me that I was portraying the character just how he envisioned and that he had watched my audition video so many times.”

“It kind of sounds like  _you got it_ …” You were hesitant to say, not wanting to jinx anything.

Dylan buried his face into his bicep, curling you towards him in the process. “I kind of think so too.” He mumbled, happily.

“ _Baby_..” You cooed, before leaving a flurry of soft kisses on his cheek and neck.

Dylan turned and caught your lips, a genuine smile spreading across every inch of his face. “It’s the best script I’ve ever read, Y/n. It’s amazing. I mean, you read that little part that you helped me run lines with-”

“It felt..” You paused to find the right word. “ _monumental_.”

Dylan snickered, then nodded, resting his fingers under your chin. “That’s actually the perfect way to describe it.”

“Maybe even  _Oscar_   _worthy_?”

Dylan’s mouth curved up a little and you could almost make out a dusting of pink, on his cheeks. “ _Maybe_.. Yea, uh, maybe, but that’s obviously not why I’d be doing it.”

“Right.” You confirmed, sincerely.

“It’s just honestly, the script, it’s a work of fucking art. It’s so fucking good.” He sighed. “I’ve never wanted to, so desperately, be a part of a project as badly as I want to be a part of this film. I want it so bad.” Dylan admitted, shutting his eyes tight, like it almost pained him how much he yearned for the role.

“I believe in you.” You whispered, before leaning forward and pressing a velvety, soft kiss against his brow. Dylan’s moan was barely audible.

He knew that this was a moment that he’d remember forever. He was genuinely happy.

“Luca has a movie coming out in November or December, right?” You asked, your fingers now mindlessly stroking the hair on his chest.

Dylan nodded. “November. It’s called ’ _Call Me By Your Name’_. We have to go see it.”

“I’m there.” You promised.

“Good.” Dylan nodded once. “I’ve been obsessed with Luca’s work for years. He’s so talented. I can’t wait to see what he does with the movie coming out. It’s getting all this Oscar buzz already from all the film festivals and shit. I told him that I’d see it and he told me to let him know what I thought when I did.”

“Oh, he wants your opinion?” You paused for a half-second. “Wait, do you have his email or something?”

Dylan nodded, his pearly whites shining between his pink lips once more. “ _Yea_.”

You rolled over closer to him again, your smile mimicking his. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, and he melted his body into yours further. “ _Oh my god, Dyl_. You fucking have the role. I know it, I just know it.”

Dylan quietly chuckled and nuzzled your cheek and ear with his perfect upturned nose.

This was heaven.

The two of you laid quietly, together, for a while.

“Do you want to go back to bed and sleep for a bit? I’ll take you to get lunch before we have to go pick up Thomas from the airport.”

You nodded, warm and heady and sleepy from being pressed up against him, under a blanket. “What time is Thomas getting in?”

“You mean, ’ _how much time do we have alone today before you have to leave tomorrow?_ ’” Dylan answered your question with a question, a smugness seeping into his tone.

You rolled your eyes lightly, but nodded anyway. “Yes.” You flicked his nipple under his shirt and Dylan sniggered.

“His flight gets in around seven, and I figured we could get him and just take him out to dinner and then, he’ll probably be jetlagged at that point, so we could just come home and let him sleep.”

“And fuck like quiet bunnies?”

Dylan finally broke the hushed silence that had a hold over the house, with an uproarious laugh. “We can be loud bunnies too. The guest room is on the other side of the house.”

You raised your eyebrows up once, an arrogant grin overtaking your soft expression. “Thank god for that.”

You and Dylan slowly made your way back into his bed, where you stayed, ordering in lunch, instead of going out for it. The two of you lazily napped, kissed, cuddled and watched television for hours. It was how you wanted to spend your last day in Los Angeles, before flying back to New York to be without Dylan for a few days, before he came out with his parents for the Mets game with you and Julia.

You dug your cheek into the place between his shoulder and his chest and you heard a contented sigh escape from Dylan’s mouth. You looked up at him and smiled when you realized that he was already watching you. 

You loved that you were known by him. 

You loved how comfortable you felt in his gaze. 

You loved the way that he stopped shying away from you when he knew he had been caught watching you, because you had grown in your trust with one another.

You leaned up and kissed the smile that was gracing his immaculate pink lips, then went back to resting on his shoulder, this time watching him, as he turned back to watch whatever movie he had flipped on the television. You stared at the way that his perfectly groomed stubble was scattered across his cheeks and jaw and neck and chin and suddenly your hand had a mind of its own and was reaching up to scratch at it. Dylan’s head instinctively leaned into your touch, and a serene smile enriched his face once more, even though he kept watching the TV.

“I love  _these_.” Your finger poked at his cheek.

Your voice got his attention, as Dylan turned his head fully and took your digit in between his teeth lightly. “What?” His voice was muffled because he refused to quit softly biting your finger.

You giggled and pulled your free fingers up to squeeze his sweet upturned nose. 

God, you loved  _every_   _single_   _inch_  of his face. 

Dylan snickered and released your index, which you wiped on his shirt before pointing back at his cheek. 

“These little patches, on both sides, that don’t grow in until you’ve like really committed to growing a thick beard.”

Dylan ran his fingers flat against where you had been stroking his cheek, simultaneously squishing your head in the bend of his elbow. You squealed and Dylan kissed your forehead. “I think they’re cause of how I sleep on my pillow.”

You shrugged, then went back to your mindless rubbing of his stubble. “Maybe. I still love them though. They always make me smile.”

Dylan gazed at you for a moment. “ _You_  always make  _me_  smile.” He turned back to watch the television, with a toothy grin plastered on his face.

* * *

* * *

**Dylan O'Brien: [7:49PM]**   _YO_

 **Dylan O'Brien: [7:51PM]**   _What are you dooooooooing_?

 **Dylan O'Brien: [8:02PM]** _I’m trying not to be clingy by waiting ten minutes before texting you again, but, like, also, talk to me_?

 **Dylan O'Brien: [8:28PM]** _Baaaaaaaaaaby, I miss you. Where are you_?

 **Dylan O'Brien: [9:03PM]** _Idk if you’re pissed at me or your phone is out of juice or you’re just busy or you’re dead_.

 **Dylan O'Brien: [9:07PM]** _Okay, now I feel like I shouldn’t joke about you being dead_.

 **Dylan O'Brien: [9:10PM]**   _I hope you’re just busy_.

 **Dylan O'Brien: [9:34PM]**   _Can you please call me later_?

Dylan practically jumped in his seat when he saw a FaceTime request from you. He answered immediately.

“ _You’re a crazy person._ ”

“Well, hello to you too.” Dylan narrowed his eyes at the smirk staring at him on his screen.

You chuckled heartily and shook your head. “ _I was at the movies with John and Maddie and Ryan_ ….”

Dylan  _vaguely_  remembered you telling him about this. “Oh..”

“ _Seeing a little film starring a certain someone that I know_ …”

No,  _yeah_ , Dylan  _definitely_  remembered you telling him a few mornings before that you were going to see ‘ _American Assassin’_ with your sister, her fiancé, and your best guy friend, when he was driving you to LAX for your flight back to New York. 

He decided to cover up the fact that he had sort of not fully been listening to you talking, in the car, because he was trying to focus on actually driving, despite the fact that your fingers were twirling the long strands of hair above the nape of his neck practically the entire ride to the airport, by making a joke. He loved when you did that; and you did it all the time, but it was relaxing and distracting and tended to put him in a comfortable, and mildly aroused, trance.

And  _now_  he forgot the joke he was going to make..

And you were staring at him with wide, concerned eyes, as he had clearly zoned out.

 _Oh_! No, he remembered the joke.

“You know Taron Egerton from ’ _Kingsmen_ ’?” He said with mock surprise.

You tried to contort your face to show how unamused you wished you were, but you loved when he was facetious; you thought it was hilarious. Your mouth betrayed you, as the corners turned up in a smirk. “ _I hate you._ ”

“I miss you. Where are you right now?” Dylan squinted at the darkness and pixelation engulfing his screen.

A more genuine smile softly spread across your mouth at his response. You looked around at your surroundings, before answering. “ _I am actually at a gas station in Flushing. I just dropped Maddie and Ryan off at Ryan’s parents house upstate because they missed their train and I offered to drive them. They’re spending the week there and it was a whole thing where they needed to be dropped_ …” You waved your hand at the screen, and rolled your eyes, not bothering to finish your own boring explanation. “ _But I saw my bag kept lighting up because a certain **someone**  kept texting me_..”

“Taron Egerton again?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, hoping that Dylan could see it regardless of the darkness engulfing you. “ _Yes, Taron Egerton was texting me and I’m driving to meet him right now. Thought I’d FaceTime you to end things before I saw him._ ”

Dylan pouted. His joke had backfired and now he was jealous of a man neither of you had ever met. “You’re the worst.” He managed to say as casually as he could, which was not very casual at all.

“ _I know_.” You smiled.

“Why didn’t you just text me or wait till you got home to FaceTime me?” He asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from where it had gone.

You shrugged and scratched at the corner of your mouth. “ _I don’t know. You seemed like you were kind of freaking out there and I didn’t want you to_.”

“I’m sorry about those texts. They were a bit dramatic.”

You snickered and shook your head. “ _It’s okay. We’re pretty good about answering each other and I went a little AWOL there, didn’t I? I would’ve freaked a little too_.”

Dylan sighed heavily and shook his head. “I just miss you. My house feels empty without you here.”

“ _Isn’t Thomas there_?” You asked, referring to Dylan’s  _Maze Runner_ co-star, and one of his best friends, who had been crashing in Dylan’s guest room since the afternoon that you left Los Angeles.

Dylan shrugged his mouth and left shoulder. “Yeah, but, you know, I don’t cuddle with him as often as I do with you.”

“ _Oh, only sometimes_?” You smiled and shook your head.

“Only sometimes.” Dylan confirmed with a grin.

“ _Have you guys been hanging out_?”

Dylan nodded. “Yeah, we got dinner earlier at that hot dog place near the L.A. River, where you got that strawberry beer that you loved.”

“ _[Wurstküche](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.wurstkuche.com%2Ffood-index&t=Y2U1OWFjZDBhMDZiODM0NWMzNzk5YTY4YmE2ZjBmODc3ZmQyNzUzNixDSDNUckwzUg%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170527084762%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-17-dylan-obrien&m=1)_?” You clarified.

“Yeah, he loved it. He got some rattlesnake and rabbit sausage thing and like, this huge pint of this Belgian IPA.”

You cut Dylan off.  _“Oh god, don’t tell me about Thomas eating bunnies. I want to like him still._ ”

Dylan laughed at how you scrunched up your nose in sadness. He loved getting to see your reactions, regardless of how dimly your face was lit. “Sorry, sorry, he had a veggie dog.”

“ _Better_.” You flashed him your pearly whites and Dylan melted a little.

“He’s going to stay here when I go back to New York.”

The idea of Dylan returning made you feel a little more relaxed and pliant, you wanted to lay down and stare at his face. You adjusted the seat as far back as it would recline and moved onto your side, holding the phone a short distance away in both of your hands, absentmindedly stroking the sides of phone case, as if you were stroking his cheeks.

“ _You come back on Sunday_?” Dylan nodded with a soft smile, you returned the gesture. “ _We have the apartment to ourselves all week while you move into your apartment and your parents stay there_.”

“Because Maddie and Ryan decided to go on vacation upstate?”

“ _Yep_.”

Dylan’s smile widened, a contagious and uncontrollable grin. “I can’t wait. I just wanna be back with you already.” He had laid down on his bed as well, wanting to be horizontal with you, even if it was just virtual.

You smiled gently, and decided to tease him. “ _So needy_.”

Dylan laughed quietly. “I really am.”

You exhaled heavily out of your nose, your smile a permanent fixture at this point. “ _It’s okay. I want you back home already too_.”

Dylan felt fuzzy inside when he heard you refer to his home as New York because that was what he had been referring to as ’ _home_ ’ lately too. It felt like it now. New York was always home, but more so in the sense of that was where he was from and where he grew up. Los Angeles had been home for a long time, until you came along. New York was where he wanted to be. New York was where he was most comfortable. New York was where he was happiest and safest.

 _New York was home again_.

Dylan heard your voice saying his name and realized he had zoned out. “Sorry, what?”

You snickered. “ _I said, I should get home. The guy inside the gas station store is giving me funny looks for just sitting in his parking lot. I asked if you wanted to stay on while I drive home and we could keep talking, or if you were going to go hang out with Sangster_?”

Dylan wondered how he had managed to miss that entire question, but he liked the way that what you had just said filled his chest with a warm feeling. You had to drive home, but you wanted him to stay on the video chat. He wanted it too. “I’ll stay on. I’ve got nothing to do but talk to you tonight.”

“ _I’m gonna put you on the seat._ ”

Dylan laughed. “Make sure to buckle me in.”

The last thing he caught, before he was staring at the dark ceiling and listening to the engine turn over, was you smirking and rolling your eyes. “ _Well, obviously_.”

He chuckled. “Dork.”

He had never been so excited to just stare up at a dark roof of a car and listen to you drive and sing quietly to music. Every once in a while, Dylan caught you peeking at the screen to see what he was doing, and he would yell at you to pay attention to the road, but mostly, it just made him stupidly smitten with how cute you were. 

He knew that what the two of you had going on couldn’t truly be defined as a real long distance relationship yet, the times in between were too short and occasionally you lived in the same city, but he knew that the long distance part would eventually come and it would be hard, yet, Dylan smiled because he knew that if it could be anything like what he was doing with you right then, and if he got giddy just by being on FaceTime with you while you drive, that your relationship would definitely work.

He was happy. Simply, uncomplicatedly happy. 

He loved you. There was no more debate. It filled him wholly. 

He couldn’t wait to see you and tell you. 

He hoped you loved him in return, and if you did, he wanted to be smothered in it. He wanted to feel your love in every cell of his body; let it overtake him and drown him. He wanted all of it. He wanted it that way because if you loving him was anything like how you made him feel before you told him, he would be inexplicably content.

Dylan snickered quietly when you parked the car, ran up the stairs, panting, and finally made it back into your bedroom. You propped him up against a pillow on your bed and went about settling in for the night.

“So you saw  _American_   _Assassin_  tonight, right?” Dylan remembered that he had wanted to ask you this in the beginning of your call.

“ _Hm_?” You hadn’t heard him, from across the room, as you dug into his part of your dresser and pulled out a light gray t-shirt with a giant white sugar skull decal on the front, a favorite that he didn’t realize until then that he had left at your apartment. You yanked it on your almost completely naked body and let it hang off of you.

Dylan was entranced.

 _And_   _aroused_.

“I am  _definitely_  gonna jerk off to what I’m seeing right now. Oh my god.” He mumbled loud enough for you to hear it, as you crossed the room to turn off the lights and he saw the bottom of your ass cheeks hanging out from under the hem of one of his favorite shirts.

You laughed and shook your head, a slight blush covering your cheeks. You liked the thought. You curled up in your bed, turned on the lamp on your nightstand, and smiled softly at the beautiful man staring back at you through your screen.

“ _Yea, I saw ‘American Assassin’ again tonight._ ” You finally answered his question from earlier. “ _Maddie, Ryan and John were all super impressed and into it._ “

Dylan smile widened and a matching blush graced his cheeks. "Cool.” He replied, sheepishly.

“ _It was funny, Maddie just kept saying, like, ’ **I know it’s Dylan. It looks like Dylan, but I can’t believe it’s Dylan.** ’ She was like, ’ **He’s so goofy and sweet and gentle with you and dorky**.’ and shit like that. She just couldn’t get over how badass you were. She must’ve said the word ’ **badass** ’ like twenty times._”

Dylan chuckled. “That’s awesome. What’d Ryan and John think?”

“ _Well, you know Ryan, he’s quiet_.” Dylan nodded. “ _But he did say it was ’ **fucking cool**_.’ and he mentioned how much he liked the beginning scenes with you training before the CIA picks you up.”

“Dope.”

“ _John kept poking fun of the beginning with you making out with Katrina, but not at you, it was directed towards me. He kept asking me if it was ’ **weird to watch your man make out with some other girl** ’_.” You made air quotes and rolled your eyes.

“Is it weird?” Dylan asked, a certain curiosity suddenly apparent in his tone.

You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “ _Not really. I can kind of tell the difference between when you were kissing her and when you kiss me._ ” Dylan smiled softly, while you kept talking. “ _I don’t know. It kind of bothered me the first couple times I saw it, but it didn’t nearly as much tonight_.”

Dylan buried his cheek further into his pillow, trying to conceal just how happy hearing you talk made him. “Good.”

“ _However_ ,” You drew out the word. “ _I **did**  kind of wish that I could’ve come home tonight and kissed you. That would’ve been nice._” You sent him a lopsided frown and Dylan raised his brows, then furrowed them, thinking about the fact that he couldn’t fulfill that wish that night.

“I would’ve liked that too…” He got quiet and shy suddenly. “Um, you never really told me what  _you_  thought of the movie actually…”

“ _Wait, really_?” The surprise was evident in your voice and the way that you suddenly sat up. Dylan nodded. “ _Oh my god, I’m sorry. I fucking loved it. I loved the way that you portrayed Mitch. I’m so glad you gave me the book this summer because getting to know how he was supposed to be and then seeing how you brought him to life on screen, it was crazy. Lysa was right in Minneapolis. You are Mitch Rapp._ ”

“ _Baby_..” Dylan blushed fully.

You grinned. “ _No, I’m so fucking serious. It was so intense and you were so intense and snarky and brash and oh my god, I couldn’t get over how physical it was and you were and how convincing and evocative and…_ ” You thought for a second, trying to gather all the billions of thoughts you had had about the movie but never shared with him because he had never asked. “ _how viscerally terrifying you are as Mitch_.”

“That’s good, right?” His mouth twitched up at the corner.

“ _Amazing. Honestly, you were amazing. That scene where you’re about to kill Sharif and you are hallucinating that it’s Mansur, and just the look on your face, it was so fucking good. I couldn’t get over it. You were so dead behind the eyes and intense and robotic and unfeeling. It was crazy that you could emote all of that with just your face and.. I don’t know_.” You realized that you had been rambling and Dylan was shying away from the camera. “ _You know what the most impressive part is_?” Your tone changed to something more joking.

Dylan turned his face away from his pillow and looked at the smirk on your face. It made one break out on his, as well. “What?”

“ _You with guns is making me question all my liberal gun hating values because, like, holy shit, it was disturbingly sexy_.”

Dylan laughed loud and shook his head. He tried to make a joke about all of your praise, but you could tell that underneath his jest, your approval meant the world to him. It made your chest swell. “Maybe you can come with me for the shoot of the sequel. We’re supposed to be in Paris for a chunk of it.” Dylan paused for a moment. “I’d love to take you to Paris.”

You grinned, your cheeks feeling warm. You liked how far ahead into the future he was making plans. “ _I’d kind of love that too_.”

The two of you talked about nothing at all for the rest of the night. He apologized again for being crazy earlier, chalking it up to separation anxiety. You dismissed it. You didn’t need the apology. You missed him too.

You listened to him crack not funny jokes about baseball and tell anecdotes about his time on The Maze Runner sets, and felt full inside, just heavy and filled to the brim. He was the most wonderful person and he continuously kept you feeling so set and happy. 

You knew how lucky you were. You hoped he felt just as lucky.

Eventually, the two of you fell asleep, him first and you very shortly after. It felt good to hear him breathing through the speaker of the phone. You always slept better when you could hear him breathing.

You woke up when the morning sun swept over your bed because you had forgotten to draw your blinds the night before. You grabbed at your phone, hoping to get a glimpse of your beautiful, resting boyfriend, but he had already hung up the call. You sighed and turned back over to try to sleep more, covering your eyes with your arm instead of getting up to cover the windows. When you woke up again later that morning, you still hadn’t heard from him. You assumed that he was still asleep, so you sent him a quick text.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _Morning, handsome. Last night was wonderful. Text me when you can_.

You got up to get ready for your day, and checked your phone again an hour later, as you were heading out the door to your grandmother’s house to take her to a doctor’s appointment. Still nothing. You shrugged and shoved your phone in your pocket. He was probably just busy with Thomas.

* * *

* * *

“Grandma, give me a second, I’m getting a call…” You held your phone in your hand, trying to contain your excitement and grin, as you helped your grandmother sit on a wooden bench, overlooking the bay. You walked a short distance away and answered the call. “There you are. Where have you been all day?”

“ _Hi, baby._ ” Dylan said with a snicker.

You laughed, realizing that that was maybe not the most polite way to answer a phone call. “I’m sorry.  _Hi_. How are you?”

“ _I’m good._ ” You could tell that Dylan was smiling, just from the way his voice sounded. It sent little butterflies into your stomach. “ _I’m sorry I kind of disappeared today, but I’ve got a surprise for you._ ”

“Oh yeah?” You walked in aimless circles, tilting your face up towards the warm, mid-afternoon sun, and dug your free hand deep into your jean jacket’s pocket. “What kind of surprise?”

“ _Where are you right now_?” Dylan answered your question with a question. “ _Are you still with your grandma_?”

You glanced behind you at your grandmother, still patiently sitting on the bench, basking in the sun and the cooling autumn breeze. “Yeah, we were just taking a walk around the town dock. Why? Where are you? What’s this surprise?” You were getting impatient with the way he had evaded all of your questions.

“ _I’m at JFK_ -”

“ **WHAT**?!” You yelled into your phone.

Dylan continued. “ _waiting for the AirTran to take me to Jamaica. Do you think I can… would it be okay if I met your grandmother today_?”

The butterflies multiplied and you thought about how quickly you could drag your grandmother back to her apartment. “Are you joking?”

Dylan snickered. “ _No, I’m really at the airport right now._ ”

“Oh my god. Stay there, I’ll come pick you up right now.”

“ _Is there not a train that can take me to your grandma’s town? I mean, I took you to the train station after we were at the hospital. Was that not close to where she lives_?” Dylan didn’t want to inconvenience anyone, and he had formed a little bit of a plan in his head when he moved his flight up last minute.

“No, no, no, there is a train,  _but_ -”

“ _Babe, stay with your grandma, just tell me how to get from Jamaica to, what town is she in again?_ ”

You sighed, but not out of frustration because he was being argumentative. You simply wanted to see him as soon as possible. This was the second time that he had flown into town to surprise you and this time had you vibrating out of your skin with excitement, just as much as the last time had. “Port Washington. Okay, take the shuttle to Jamaica _-_ ” Dylan hummed in acknowledgement, that he understood what you were telling him. “Then you’re going to get on a train to Woodside-”

“ _Like, if we were going to your apartment?_ ” Dylan asked, remembering the name of the neighborhood, as being one that was on your Long Island Railroad line.

“Yes, but make sure it stops at Woodside.”

“ _Okay, a westbound train to Woodside. Then what?_ ” Dylan prompted further instruction.

“Then you need to get on…  _Actually_ ,” You paused. “we kind of did this already to go to the Mets game back in early August. The train that goes from Woodside to Mets/Willets Point is the Port Washington line.”

“ _Oh_.” Dylan exclaimed with some confidence. “ _That was pretty easy. So what stop am I getting off at_?”

“The last one. That branch terminates in Port Washington and then they turn right back around and head back to Manhattan. I’ll pick you up at the train station here, just text me which train you get on.”

“ _Will do, baby._ ” Dylan beamed with pride. He was so happy that he had managed to pull off coming back to New York early to surprise you.

He was en route, on the AirTran, to Jamaica station, and he could tell that, despite his Mets cap and black Raybans, he had been recognized by a teenage girl in the corner with her parents. He could tell that she was taking a picture of him on her phone. He didn’t even care. He was too excited to get perturbed by the invasion of his privacy.

“I’ll see you in a bit, D.” You whispered. “I can’t believe you.”

He could tell you were happy. He heard it in the way that your voice sounded melodic and dreamy. It made his heart race with anticipation. “ _I’ll see you in a little._ ”

* * *

You tapped your fingers, anxiously, on the steering wheel, trying not to climb out of your skin in sheer excitement. Your eyes darted through the bodies descending the stairs, from the platform, waiting to see someone that resembled the man you loved. A black Mets cap bobbed up and down behind a large man in an oversized business suit, and suddenly you saw Dylan: a little scruffy, wearing a black shirt, a dark blue flannel and khakis. You wondered if he had forgone sweats on his flight or if he had changed at the airport, in order to look a little more presentable for meeting your grandmother the first time.

Either way,  _he looked good_.

You honked your horn in two short spurts and sheepishly waved your hand up so that he would see you through the windshield. The way that the lowering, afternoon sun reflected off his pearly whites made your heart skip a full beat. You wanted his long legs to move faster, so that he would be in your arms sooner. You didn’t realize how much you had missed him, after barely forty-eight hours apart; but you missed him immensely. You were so grateful that he was in front of you again, real and perfect and  _tangible_.

Dylan opened the door to the backseat, on the passenger side, and tossed his bags into the footwell. The moment he finally climbed into the passenger seat, you flung yourself over the center console and wrapped your hands around his neck, bringing Dylan in for a desperate and excited kiss.

“Hey, you.” He whispered, staring into your y/e/c eyes, as his thumb rubbed the saliva off your lower lip.

“I cannot believe you are here.” Dylan smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “You were supposed to fly back out here with your parents, what happened?”

Dylan pressed a kiss against your forehead, and your hands melted into his thigh and chest, simply needing to continue touching him to confirm that he was real. One more soft forehead kiss, and Dylan finally explained himself, his hands rubbing up and down your arms. The desire to be tactile with one another was entirely too present in the car.

“I woke up in the middle of the night last night, and I…” Dylan paused and shook his head, clearly getting lost in his memories for a moment. “ _I missed you. So much_.” You smiled softly at him, your hand moving from his chest to his neck, wanting to feel real skin. “I looked up when the next flight out of LAX was, and it was at four this morning, so I booked it, texted my parents and told them I was coming out earlier, wrote a note for Thomas, called a cab, and here I am.”

Suddenly, the last thing you wanted was to go back to your grandmother’s. You didn’t want to share him with anyone. You wanted him in your bed, under your covers, in between your legs, greedily reconnecting with one another. You wanted his lips on yours again. You glanced at the time on the dashboard. You could get away with probably twenty more minutes. You sat back in your seat and turned the engine back on, watching as Dylan clicked his seatbelt into place.

You stared at your handsome, thoughtful, romantic boyfriend for one more moment, a smile now permanent on your face, as you began to pull out of your parking spot. You quickly thought through the places that you could go.

 _One place came to mind, if you could manage to find a spot by no other cars_ ….

You began to drive, your fingers curling in between Dylan’s, as you pulled out onto Main Street, littered with mom and pop shops and bustling with foot traffic and expensive SUVs. “I still can’t believe you did this again.”

“You’re not mad, are you?” Dylan’s brows pinched the skin in between, and your favorite, prominent wrinkle creased into his forehead.

You shook your head emphatically, as you glanced over at him. “God, no. I am so happy you’re here right now.  _I just_ … I am never going to stop  _swooning_  over the fact that you have now taken two six hour flights, last minute, just to come hang out with me and one of my family members. Like…” You paused and shook your head, the permanent smile still plastered on your face. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Dylan lifted your connected hands up to his face. He rubbed the scarred side of his nose against the back of your hand and then began kissing each knuckle. A soft smile was settled into the corners of his eyes. “I wonder what I did to deserve you almost everyday.”

 _More_. Your brain, your body, your heart, they all needed more of him.  _Immediately_.

The car hummed, as you waited at the final light between you and your destination. You took the right turn, and drove a few hundred feet more, before you turned right again, peeling off onto the ring road around Mill Pond, hoping you would be able to find a decent parking spot. You did.

You pulled in and put the car in park, quickly shutting off the engine.

In one fell swoop, you climbed over the console and gear shift, and moved to attempt to straddle Dylan’s lap.

He chuckled, looking entirely amused by the very obvious and sudden desire that had settled into the air in the car. He unbuckled his seatbelt and then let his hands run up your thighs, to settle on your hips. He looked around at his surroundings, as your lips began hungrily connecting with his neck.

“I thought your grandmother lived in an apartment building?” Dylan asked, trying not to kill the mood, but also attempting to clarify what was happening.

“She does.” You answered, as if that was enough.

Dylan glanced around him again, trying to ignore the way that your fingers were burrowing their way under his shirt. “We’re surrounded by houses and a lake.”

“Yes, _thank you_ , Captain Obvious.” You paused only long enough to roll your eyes at him.

“Y/n.” Dylan’s voice was low and commanding, and  _shit_ , if that didn’t turn you on more.

 _The bastard_.

You groaned, impatient, petulant and whiny. “Would you just let me make out with you for like ten minutes?” You finally begged, if only to get him to stop asking questions and stop saying your name in the new deep, sexy voice that made you want to peel your jeans off and bury him in you, in public, in the middle of the day.

A smug beam spread across Dylan’s face. “ _Oh_.. You pulled over just to make out with me?”

“Not anymore.” You huffed, annoyed, and tried to climb off of Dylan, regardless of the incessant throbbing in between your legs.

His romantic gesture of flying across the country to see you a day sooner went straight to your heart, and then straight to the bottom of your stomach. You wanted to show him how much you appreciated his thoughtfulness. Dylan stopped you from moving even an inch away from him. His long, languid, strong fingers dug into the denim fabric of your jeans, pinning you back over him.

“I’m good with making out for a little.” He mumbled, cockily, before snatching your lower lip between his teeth.

You let out a hiss and then you went boneless against him; the dead weight of your lustfilled body grinding down into his lap. The two of you groaned over the familiar sensation, and Dylan’s thumb slid towards the inside of your thighs. Your tongues swirled around each other, as one hand was tugging strands of his greasy, post-flight and post-baseball cap hair, and the other was digging into the flesh of his stomach. He groaned and licked the insides of your mouth, a familiar sensation that was aimed at getting the taste of you on his tongue.

Your head drooped into the crook of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent, and you groaned, as suddenly, Dylan’s fingers pushed flat up against your clothed pussy. “I would kill to be wearing a skirt right now.” You mumbled, barely coherent, but close enough to Dylan’s ear that he understood each word. It took his now endorphin flooded brain a few extra moments to process what you had said and why you had said it, but as you ground down on his fingers, trying to get him to push harder against the layers of fabric in between, he understood what you meant.

“Oh god, a skirt would’ve  _been_..” Words were not coming as easily as instinctual sounds. He finished his sentence with a growl. You understood.

Your fingers clawed at his shirt, and you began biting and sucking, with reckless abandon for the potential of leftover marks and evidence of your short pitstop, on his shoulder. A shuddered moan left your lips, when Dylan decided ‘fuck it’ and undid your jeans, forcing his oversized hand into your pants.

“ _So wet_.” Dylan’s mouth said out loud what his fingers had just reported to his brain.

Your teeth bit and pulled at Dylan’s attached ear lobe and he groaned, finally turning to reattach his lips to yours. You whimpered at the reconnect and Dylan let out a short, satisfied huff, through his nostrils.

Your hands wanted, wanted, wanted,  _needed_ , more of him. 

Clumsily, you set out on a expedition for more of your beautiful boyfriend. Your wrist bumped against his wrist and your position became a little more awkward, but you found the prominent bulge in his pants and you frantically began undoing buttons and zippers. You tried your hardest to stay focused, despite the fact that two of his fingers were thrusting in and out of you, while his thumb spread your slickness around your clit, and your skin kept getting brushed by the hair that was hidden by his boxer briefs, soft curls that were hidden to everyone but you. He trimmed to keep it all under control, but mostly, Dylan was hirsute and all man, and it made you dizzy with desire.

Fucking in public was not really an option, at least not during the daytime when people were out walking their dogs or picking their kids up from bus stops, and while jerking each other off wasn’t really that much better, it at least didn’t need to involve any genitals being out in the open for any random pedestrian to see. Dylan huffed and grunted each time you stroked him, even, tight and long, exactly how he liked it. Your mouths met in a clash of teeth and hot breath and swollen lips. Dylan drank in each and every moan that escaped from your mouth and returned it in the form of soft whines and bucking hips.

He wanted as much as you wanted. At this point, it was probably more of a need than anything else.

A need to be close, to be touching, to be falling into each other over and over and over. A need for skin and contact and exposure.

A need for one another in the way that only the other was allowed to experience.

 _A need_.

* * *

As all good things do, this came to an end the moment that your phone started ringing obnoxiously loud from the cupholder in between the seats.

“ ** _FUCK_**.” You said loudly, and with some venom, but more exasperated than anything else. You knew this call was coming, you just knew.

Dylan whined. The word ’ _don’t_ ’ was dangerously close to slipping off the tip of his tongue. You wanted him to say it.

He didn’t.

You picked up the call. “Hi, Gram.”

Dylan withdrew his fingers from your body and your clothing, and slammed his head back against the headrest. The seat shook from the force. He listened, trying to ignore the sharp ache that radiated from the core of his body. This was going to hurt in about ten minutes. He kept trying to focus on the mumbling coming from the other end of the call instead.

“Yea, Gram, I got him. He got a little lost trying to find the car and then I was showing him around town for a minute, but we’re, like,-” You paused, sighed, and dropped your head into your open palm, trying not to let your frustration shine through when your grandmother interrupted you. “I know.” You stared at Dylan, red faced and panting underneath you still, staring back into your y/e/c eyes. You sighed again. “We’ll be there in less than five minutes, Gram. Yeah, yep, we’ll be right there.” You tried to run your fingers through your hair, straightening it out from when Dylan’s hands were in it, just mere minutes before. “Okay, we’ll see you in a few….  _Bye_.”

You groaned and leaned back against the dashboard, still straddling Dylan’s legs. He used the opening between your bodies to thoroughly tuck himself back into his boxer briefs, still miserably hard. “She wondering where we were?”

You nodded and rolled your eyes. “She gets anxious when she feels people are late or taking too long.”

“Can I get out for a minute?” You nodded once and began climbing back over to the drivers seat, with Dylan’s help. He pulled his shirt down and made a noise of pure frustration. “I just need a minute of fresh air.”

You felt guilt, as you fixed your pants back to their correct position and watched Dylan standing at the edge of the pond, his hands perched on his hips, and his shoulders hunched forward. He got back in the car about a minute later and buckled his seatbelt back in. You turned the keys in the ignition and waited for a car to pass by before edging back out onto the road. You glanced at Dylan, who was staring out the window at the blurry houses.

“I’m sorry.”

His head turned to look at you, staring at the road, gripping the steering wheel in a way that he had never seen you hold it before; ten and two, what a wild concept. “For  _what_?” His brow furrowed.

“I shouldn’t have initiated that.”

“Fuck that.” Dylan scoffed. “I was hoping you would. I missed you.” His hand snaked around the back of your neck, under your still somewhat messy hair, and he squeezed gently. “ _I missed you more than you know._ ” He repeated, quietly, and you turned to look at him, all softened features and glistening amber eyes.

The feeling was mutual.

You pulled into one of the ’ _Guest_ ’ spots in your grandmother’s parking lot and searched for wipes in the glove compartment, for Dylan to clean his hand with. Dylan watched you smoothing down your hair in the rear view mirror and smiled, a little bit of an edge to his otherwise soft grin. “We’re going to finish that later, right?”

You couldn’t help but redden a little at the ears and neck. “Absolutely.”

* * *

Your grandmother was a product of her era and setting. She was hard and blunt, yet filtered for decorum’s sake. She always expected a thank you card and she didn’t like it when there were elbows on the table during any meal, but at the same time, she had a raspy New York City accent and vehemently hated everything the Republicans stood for, except for abortion. A good Catholic, New Yorker, who had lived on her own and hadn’t had a man tell her what to do in almost twenty years, was a proper summation of what she was like.

She reminded Dylan a lot of his own grandmother, his father’s Long Island mother, all accent, tan, and ready to kill for her family. It made him feel more comfortable, even when he was essentially being interrogated.

The three of you sat in her formal family room, a space where feet were never meant to touch the furniture and pillows were simply for decoration. He snapped out of his focus on the myriad of black and white and full color pictures that littered every flat surface in the room, when he knew that he was being addressed again.

“An  _actor_ ,  _hm_? I don’t know, Y/f/n, Alice King’s grandson was an actor and he moved out to Hollywood and everything. Now he’s an insurance adjuster living in Ohio because he couldn’t cut it.”

Dylan snickered. That’s more or less what his grandmother said to him when he told her that he wasn’t going to college and he was auditioning for roles instead. Every grandmother knew of some other person’s grandchild who had tried and failed at their desired career and thus, you were bound to fail as well. He didn’t take it personally.

“ _Gram_ ,” You groaned and rolled your eyes. “Dylan was the costar of a six season-long television show.”

“On what channel?” Eileen challenged.

You hesitated, and Dylan filled in the gap, not understanding why you had paused. “ _MTV_.”

“ _Oh_.” The potential approval was gone, again. “That hardly counts.”

“Seriously, Gram?” You deadpanned her. “ _Ugh_.” Dylan snickered, laughing at how exasperated you were getting in defending him. He watched you get up, not knowing why, hoping that you weren’t deserting him, relieved when you returned with a computer. He knew where you were going with this now. “He’s also been in, like,  _what_?” You looked at Dylan from where you were crouched next to your grandmother, typing something in on your computer. “four, five movies?”

“About.” Dylan confirmed, then snickered when he heard the dissonant sounds of violins playing through your computer speakers. You had pulled up the first trailer for ‘ _American Assassin_ ’.

“Gram, Dylan had a  _literal_  movie premiere, three of them, for this movie. It’s in theaters right now. It’s based on a New York Times Bestseller.” You were using buzzwords that you knew would impress her. She made a sound of interest, and you hit play again on the trailer.

“ _[Car crash. I was fourteen](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D5dfcQOBJ83A&t=YWI1OWQ4YjIzMjgyNWMyMWRlZjhjODBiOTk0NTZlMGNiY2YwM2NmMCxDSDNUckwzUg%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170527084762%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-17-dylan-obrien&m=1)_.”

Your grandmother looked from the screen to Dylan, sitting patiently and straight, and back at the computer, then to you. “That sounds like him, but that’s not him.”

You sighed. “He just had a beard and longer hair, but I assure, Gram.  _It’s him_. This was like a thirty million dollar budget film, with Michael Keaton. You know who Michael Keaton, is right?”

Dylan tuned out your argument because a piece of information that you had just conveyed surprised him. ’ _This was like a thirty million dollar budget film_ …’ Dylan had never told you that, which meant that you had looked up that piece of information. He both enjoyed that you didn’t talk about his career too often, and also wondered if you were unimpressed by it, or just didn’t care. It was then that he realized that you were probably holding back this whole time, trying not to make him uncomfortable, but quietly following his career and learning about his projects. You were silently supporting him and that new knowledge filled his chest with more love than he had ever felt before. He began listening to you again. You had moved on to the first  _Maze Runner_  trailer, pointing at the screen and arguing with your grandmother, talking about all of the impressive things that you felt he had done with his career thus far. He swooned over the obvious pride that emanated from your voice. 

To feel your pride in him and his accomplishments, made him feel pride in himself.

“What’s your next job then? Gotta support my granddaughter somehow.” Dylan realized that you were putting your computer away and he was involved in the conversation once again.

He heard you groan again, as you walked back into the family room and sat on the stiff, teal couch, next to him. “ _Gram_ , he doesn’t take care of me. I have a job too. I don’t need a man to support me.  _We talked about this._ ”

He snickered quietly when he saw your grandmother roll her eyes, in the exact way that you always did. He liked seeing where facets of your personality manifested from. “Um, I’m one of the main characters on a Showtime show. That starts filming in about a week, in  _Brooklyn_ -”

“ _And_  he’s been on a few auditions now for this one movie that I think he’s going to get the lead role for.”

“So you’re getting jobs then?” Eileen confirmed.

“Yes, Mrs. Y/L/N. I’ve been pretty lucky so far with this line of work.”

* * *

Your grandmother eased up and relaxed with her incessant questioning after Dylan had talked about his childhood and family and realized that his grandmother grew up in Jackson Heights, Queens, around the same time as your grandmother did. After that, Eileen seemed just as charmed by Dylan, as everyone else that ever met Dylan. You went into the other room to order dinner for the three of you, leaving Dylan with your grandmother and a photo album, on the couch.

“Does she smoke too?”

Dylan was startled by the question. “ _What_?” He sputtered for a second. “I’m sorry, I don’t  _understand_.”

Your grandmother reached over and tapped on Dylan’s thumb, holding the pages of the photo album, in his hands. “I know a smoker’s hands when I see them. Y/n’s grandfather smoked from World War II, till the day he died.”

Dylan wondered what ’ _smoker’s hands_ ’ meant, or what about his fingers gave him away.  _Were they stained a darker color and he just didn’t notice? Were there burns from stray ashes that he had grown to just think was a part of his skin? Did his clothes still somehow smell like tobacco, even though he hadn’t smoked in months?_  He had to answer her question. 

“No, no, Y/n doesn’t smoke. I don’t think she’s ever even picked up a cigarette. She got me to quit and didn’t even know it…  _Months ago_.” Dylan overshared, but he wanted to keep your grandmother liking him.

She hummed lightly. “Good girl… That makes sense, considering Jack.”

“ _Jack_?” Dylan asked, glancing up to see if you were coming back yet. You weren’t.

“My late husband. Y/n’s Grandpa Jack.” Eileen explained. Dylan realized that you had mentioned him before, but had never said his name. He felt stupid for not knowing.

“Oh, right. Mr. Y/L/N.”

Eileen nodded once. “Has she ever told you what happened to him?”

Dylan shook his head. “Only that they were close and he died when she was little.”

“He died in 1999-”

“So, Y/n was seven.” Dylan interrupted, to confirm.

Eileen nodded and crossed her legs, relaxing back against the uncomfortable, formal couch. “He got drafted into the Army the day after he turned eighteen, decided to become a paratrooper and jumped on D-Day.”

“Oh, wow." 

Dylan wished he could see your face when this story was being told. He wished that you knew that he was being told it. It felt oddly intimate to be hearing about something that you obviously kept close to the chest, and hadn’t told him yet. It felt wrong, in a way, but your grandmother continued on. He supposed it was her story to tell, as well.

"He started smoking when he was still in Normandy, came home after the war was over and never quit. Used to sit out on the back porch of our old house, regardless of the weather, and smoke two cigarettes a day, one in the morning and one before bed.” Eileen went somewhere else for a minute. Dylan thought that maybe she was back on that porch with her long-dead husband. She quickly regained her composure and finished her story. “He got sick one day when he was at a park, teaching Y/n how to ride her bike without the training wheels.”

Dylan didn’t say it out loud, but pieces were starting to fall in place, and all he could think was the word, ’ _fuck_ ’.

“Someone called for an ambulance, but he never left the hospital after that. He had stage four lung cancer, and he died a few weeks later. She was there every day after school, updating him on her progress without the training wheels or talking to him about her Barbies. He loved her fiercely. She was devastated. It’s hard to explain to a seven year old that the man she looked up to and loved so much was just never coming back.”

Dylan didn’t know what to say. “I never smoked in front of her.” That wasn’t fully the truth, but he didn’t want your grandmother to think that he was reckless with your safety. “She made her feelings clear on the…  _topic_ , the first day I met her.”

“What’d I do the first day I met you?” You asked, rejoining the room. “Chinese is on its way.” You added quickly.

“ _Nothing_.” Eileen said, flatly. Dylan glanced over, surprised that she lied and covered up their conversation.

They went back to the photo album and exchanging stories. Eileen seemed much more enthralled in the prospect of Dylan possibly being able to make you into a Mets fan yet, and of the idea that he could possibly travel with you, whenever you decided to start going on trips again. She never liked the idea of you traipsing across the globe by yourself. 

He ended up spending five hours with the two of you, chatting, watching Jeopardy and musing over how competitive you got with your grandmother, eating dinner and walking down to the ice cream shop the next block over. When it was finally time to go, the hour growing late, Dylan understood why you were so fond of your grandmother; why you would spend all the time and energy that you had spent, helping to take care of her.

Eileen reminded him a lot of you; albeit older and less open to the changing times, but nonetheless, smart, expressive, a storyteller, a caretaker and intuitive. He couldn’t help but crack a smile when he heard your grandmother ask how to change the background of her lock screen on her iPhone.

“ _Why_?” You asked, hands on hips and head tilted to the left, with suspicion in your eyes.

“Because you and Dylan should get equal time as the picture on my phone. Maddie and Ryan have been it for months.”

“ _Gram_.” You whined.

She ignored you. “Dylan, do these  _things_  - can we take a picture of the three of us?”

“Absolutely.” Dylan took the phone from your grandmother’s hands and began to prop it up against a crystal candlestick on her dining room table.

“ _D_..” You whined, not wanting to take the picture.

“It’s counting down.” Dylan announced, as he trotted back over to your grandmother. “Come here, ya nut.” He pulled gently on your wrist and positioned you in the middle of him and Eileen. “ _Say cheese_.”

You leaned the side of your head against his chest, as the camera went off, encapsulating the three of you in that pose for the rest of time.

* * *

Dylan woke up to the familiar scent of your vanilla shampoo mingling with his laundry detergent, on his pillow case. He felt warm and heavy and weighted down. He cracked open his eyes, letting the soft morning light flood his brain, and he looked for you. 

You weren’t snuggled up in front of him, like you had been when the two of you fell asleep, the night before. He sighed, as he felt your fingers curl against the skin of his stomach. He understood why he felt so warm and grounded. Your arm was draped over his side, your left leg was threaded in between his thighs, and your front was flush against his back, holding him, safe and gentle.

He wasn’t sure why he felt that he had to wait for some monumental moment to tell you he loved you, when he was feeling it so strongly for weeks now. Love was love and he thought that maybe it would be that much more special if he woke you up and told you he loved you for the first time simply because your nose was pressed against his shoulder blade and your breath was warm and steady and it filled him with more love than he could handle. That felt pretty special. The mundaneness of the moment was what would have made it special.

But then you stirred, your breathing grew unsteady, and your hand dropped from his stomach, down to his cock. Dylan laughed quietly to himself. The moment was ruined by you waking up horny for him, for the millionth time, although, in fairness, he loved that about you too. Regardless, this no longer seemed like the correct time to drop the ’ _L-bomb_ ’ for the first time.

Dylan turned, pulling your hands off of his body, and cupping them in between his larger hands, pulling them up to his mouth to lay sweet kisses against your knuckles. Your eyes fluttered open and you smiled softly at him. He felt the world settle around him, except for one thing that had been gnawing at the back of his subconscious since the night before. He hadn’t brought it up then because as soon as you both got back to your empty apartment, you picked up where you had left off, in the car, outside of Mill Pond, earlier in the day. You picked up where you left off over and over and over and over again, until, out of pure exhaustion, you fell asleep cradled in his arms.

“Morning.” Dylan broke the long, comfortable silence, while tucking stray hairs away from your face.

“Hi.” You smiled back at him, enjoying the way that your feet gently wrestled under the sheets.

“Your grandma told me something last night.”

“Oh?” You quirked an eyebrow up.

Dylan dropped his gaze down to the smile that still held on to the corners of your lips. “It felt weird that you didn’t know that I knew now, and I wasn’t sure if you had never told me for a reason, and-”

“ _Dyl_.” You voice was low and steady, yet light and sweet. You cupped a hand over his heart and tucked your head closer to his. “Just tell me. Whatever she said, cannot be that weird.”

Dylan nodded once. “She told me about your grandfather.”

“ _Oh_.” You repeated, your voice going a little distant, but your physical presence remaining firmly against him.

“She saw my hands and somehow knew that I used to smoke and she told me the whole story.”

“How’d she know?” You furrowed your brow, a quick, empty laugh falling from your lips.

Dylan shrugged. ’ _Why didn’t you ever tell me that was why you hated smoking so much? Why didn’t you ever tell me that, in general_?’ He wanted to ask. He didn’t. “I don’t know,” he said instead.

As if you could read his mind, you answered his unspoken inquiries. “I don’t really like talking about it - him that much. It was,” You paused and tucked your head under his chin, not able to bear the scrutiny that came with him being able to see your face and hear your words at the same time. “ _traumatizing_.” You admitted. Dylan held you close, leaving smooth and comforting kisses in your hair. “He was the best and we got along so well and then he collapsed teaching me to ride my bike and it was before everyone had a cellphone so it took a little while for the paramedics to come and,” You sighed again. “he smoked his whole life, he got cancer because of it, and then he died on my birthday, and it was scarring.”

Dylan tensed. Your grandmother had left that piece of information out of her version of the story. “I didn’t know that part. I’m sorry, honey.” It was all he could think to say. 

He felt so guilty suddenly, for ever having bought a pack of smokes in his life. He never wanted to leave you alone the same way. He pulled you impossibly tight against him, stroking your hair and leaving kisses on your cheek and nose.

“Just know that’s why I reacted the way I did.”

Dylan nodded. “I get it.”

“I just don’t want to lose you.”

Dylan finally caught your eyes, nudging your nose with his own. “You won’t.” He pressed a promise to your lips and then held you for the rest of the morning.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leeeeeeeeeeeet your girl know what you thought because I wasn’t the most in love with this chapter and I would probably benefit on some positive feedback since this series is sucking the life out of me.


	18. Penthouse 808

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> October hits and Dylan starts work on his new show, ‘The Affair’.

“So, this place is cool.” Dylan awkwardly sputtered, grasping at anyway to start up the conversation once the waiter left with their menus.

“ _Hm_?” You glanced up from your phone. “Oh, yeah, it’s good.” Your attention went back to the way your thumb was rolling across the screen of your iPhone.

Dylan thought it was extraordinarily unsettling that you were on your phone while you and him were out to eat, on a date. You had practically lectured him a few months ago about how rude it was to be on a smartphone while at a restaurant or out to eat with someone. It was one of your pet peeves and your quick annoyance, on the action, had swiftly trained Dylan out of his habit to do it. But now here you were, hunched over the edge of the table, eyes glued to your phone, while Dylan uncomfortably fidgeted in his seat, watching you.

 _What the hell had gotten into you_?

He trusted you, and he didn’t like being nosy, but,  _fuck_ , just to draw your attention back onto him for a moment, so he could gauge how fucked his lunch was going to be, he asked a question he had never asked before and didn’t like asking now.

“What’re you looking at?”

You glanced up, catching his intense gaze, and your thumb stilled, then you lowered the phone to your lap. “Nothing.” You spoke low, and your attention was drawn down to the device in your hands. “I was just talking to Heather.”

“Everything okay?” Dylan hated pushing for a little more. He felt too much like he was prying, like he was treading after you into waters that you hadn’t asked him to follow you into.

He was too compelled to follow anyway.

The soft click, of the lock button on your phone, was barely audible over the dull roar from the cars passing by on the Queensborough Bridge, immediately behind and above the rooftop restaurant that the two of you were sitting in. You shoved your phone into the pocket of your jean jacket and ruffled a few fingers through your hair, nervously. You finally met Dylan’s continued scrutinizing gaze, and nodded.

“ _Yep_. Just catching up with her.” Another ruffling of your hair and a small sip of your water with lemon, and suddenly, you were pushing your chair back and getting up from the table. Your hands burying themselves deep into your pockets. “I’m gonna go take a few pictures of the view.” You added, oddly. “Gotta keep my Snap Streaks alive and shit.”

Dylan made a noise of acknowledgement and watched you walk towards the glass railing and lazily snap a few pictures of the bridge and Manhattan and the river. Then you leaned over the railing, your elbows digging in, and you went back to doing whatever it was that you had been doing on your phone, previously.

 _What. In. The. Actual. Fuck_.

A feeling of true fear and agitated anxiety spiked through Dylan’s whole body. You were being so distant and weird and in the pit of his stomach, he  _knew_  that something was wrong.

He thought back to the past few days, trying to remember if he had done something wrong or said something to upset you.

 _Nothing_. Absolutely  _nothing_  came to mind.

That morning, when the two of you woke up in his bed, everything seemed fine. The two of you lazily made out for about an hour, pawing at and grinding on each other. It was warm, familiar, good and hot. He loved every nano-second that your mouth was attached to his. He jerked off in the shower, made you breakfast and then made out with you in his kitchen. The two of you had a wonderfully lazy and indulgent morning and he had been blissed out for most of the day because of it.

He was also perpetually pleased because later that morning had also been his first day on the set of ’ _The Affair_ ’, at Silvercup Studios in Long Island City, Queens, and you had agreed to come with him. Your presence had cut his anxiety about meeting the crew and seeing the soundstage for the first time, by half. 

He liked having you by his side. You always calmed him.

He tried to think of when you had first started acting weird. He honestly didn’t notice it until the two of you had left Silvercup and walked to Penthouse 808. You held his hand during the ten minute walk, but you felt distant. He couldn’t explain it. You had been staring at every street sign, piece of trash, bridge trestle, and pigeon that flew by, all in an attempt not to look at or near him. 

He had never seen you do that before. You weren’t interested in the city like that. You didn’t gape like a tourist; you understood and appreciated New York’s magic and majesty, but you didn’t stare at it; not pointlessly, at least, and that had felt like pointless staring.

Well, he supposed, it did, actually, have a point:  _to avoid him_.

Dylan’s anxiety began to eat away at him, in a truly impressive and crippling display of his neuroses.  _What if the two of you had been in a fight and Dylan just didn’t know it?_  It mirrored some of the events of your last fight, you ignoring him in favor of your phone, you coming off as standoffish and cold, but he knew exactly what he had done that time and he clearly understood that the two of you were arguing. 

He had no idea if that was the case now. He didn’t think you were. He had an inkling that you would make it known to him if the two of you were having a tiff.

The waiter approached the table with the water pitcher and asked Dylan if he needed anything. Dylan plastered on as much of a smile as he could muster, in the moment, and shook his head. “Can you do me a favor?” He added, before the waiter walked off to another table. “Can you ask the kitchen to hold our food until we return to the table?”

“Absolutely.” The waiter responded, cordially, before leaving to relay that information to the chef.

With that, Dylan rose from his seat and walked towards the corner of the rooftop, where you were standing. His hesitance to touch you caused a truly stomach churning feeling to settle in the pit of his belly. He was scared. 

“Hey.” He decided to try casually leaning against the railing next to you.

Your head jerked up at the movement and noise and you forced a fast smile, gone as quickly as it came. “Hey.” You replied, quietly.

“You want me to take a picture of you, with the bridge or the city or something?”

You pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

This wasn’t working. Dylan decided that he should’ve just gone with the truth in the first place. “Y/n, is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re just…..  _acting weird_ … Are you-” Dylan sighed, feeling dangerously on the verge of literally vomiting up his next several words. “ _Are you breaking up with me_?”

“ ** _What_**?” Your face read as nothing less than absolutely stunned. You reached out for Dylan’s dark purple flannel, and hooked your finger through one of the empty button loops. “ **No**! God, no. Why would you think that? Are  _you_  breaking up with  _me_?”

“ _No_ , no, no, of course not. You’re just acting so fucking distant and I’m trying to figure out what I did, but I don’t think I did anything, and I just don’t want you to be upset, and you’re clearly fucking upset about something.” Dylan blurted it all out, his slight frustration bubbling up to the surface.

You sighed heavily, dropping your head until your chin almost touched your chest.  _Now_  you felt guilty as hell. 

“I’m sorry.” You spoke softly, before looking up to see a surprisingly sympathetic look on Dylan’s face. “You were in such a good mood this morning and I just didn’t want to ruin it by bringing this up  _and_..” You trailed off, unable to speak and hold his gaze any longer. 

You shook your head, rolled your eyes at yourself and let go of your hold on his shirt, before leaning your head against your forearms, which you rested on the railing. Just because you pulled away didn’t mean that Dylan didn’t want to be close. He couldn’t stop himself anymore.

His head was still sort of spinning. He was scared, yet relieved to know that you weren’t mad at him.  _Although_ , he still hadn’t the  _slightest_  idea as to what was wrong.

He wanted to touch you. He wanted to be touched by you again. He felt like a boat that got set adrift during a small swell, and he desperately wanted to be moored to your dock once more.

 _So that’s what he did_.

Dylan stepped forward and ran his right hand through the hair on the back of your head, then followed up his gentle touch with a kiss, equal in its lightness and compassion. With you, it was easy to forget his surroundings. With you, it was easy to forget that other people existed, or ever had.  _He only saw you_. 

He kissed down the back of your neck slightly, then lingered around the collar of your jacket, soft and fuzzy, covered in a fake fleece. He stayed there, breathing in the way you smelled, divine and familiar and comforting, a scent that he now associated with a flutter in his stomach. Dylan’s arms enveloped you, not pulling you away from the position you were still resting in, just letting you know that he was there.

These small touches said more to you than words ever could.

 _But Dylan still needed some words_.

“Talk to me.  _Please_.” He whispered near your ear.

You straightened up to look at him, his arms remained hooked around your torso, so you moved to hold his elbow and bicep. You sighed, not out of exasperation and defeat, simply to empty and then refill your lungs. You were grateful for his grounding hold.

“ _Logically_ ,” You began, staring at the few chest hairs that you could see peeking out from the unbuttoned part of his henley. “I knew what I was getting myself into when we started dating.” Dylan raised his eyebrows.  _What were you getting yourself into?_  A myriad of issues came to his mind. “You’re an actor.”  _That was one of the issues he thought of too_.

“You act like you love or wanna kiss, or whatever, other people sometimes.” You paused, finally finding some courage to look your boyfriend in his laser focused caramel brown eyes. “And you really  _are_  a stunningly talented actor.  _Honestly_ , you are so good at your job; it’s astounding… Running lines with you last night was surreal. Like, I forgot it wasn’t real. I forgot that Will is just a character and that you aren’t some pretentious Harvard trained writer. That scene where you are, like, yelling at Noah, it was intense and… I don’t know, you’re just really good at what you do and I am so proud and so constantly impressed.”

A sharp pang of love momentarily washed over every other negative and nervous emotion that Dylan was feeling. He felt loved and seen and appreciated and special and loved and loved and loved, and  _god_ , he loved you in return. 

He had to focus though.

He brushed his hand against your cheek and softened his features, barely arching his brows, allowing wrinkles to settle into his forehead, fixing his eyes on yours. “What’s wrong, though?”

You huffed out of your nostrils, before banging your forehead against his chest. Dylan wrapped his arms tighter around you for a moment, but then all he could hear was the rushing of cars on the bridge and the clanking of metal on porcelain plates. He cupped his hands under your jaw and gently drew you away from him. Dylan waited, keeping your chin pointed up, so that you would have to look at him.

“ _Y/n_.” His tone was low and commanded your attention. You knew it was his way of asking what was wrong once more.

You hooked your fingers around his wrists, enjoying the way that you knew where each bone jutted out and where each vein trailed away like a river. 

 _You knew this man. You could tell him. It would be okay_. 

You took a deep breath in, then spoke quietly. “It was one thing running through the lines that led to your…  _your opening scene with Allison_.”

 _Oh_. “Oh.” It finally all clicked.

“It was a whole  _other_   _thing_  walking through the sets today and seeing what would be Will’s bedroom, where in like four days, or something, you are going to be  _having sex_   _with_ , or simulating sex with, or  _whatevering_   _with_..” You shook your head against his hands and closed your eyes. You were just barely able to get this all out without breaking down into stressed out, frustrated, pissed off tears. “You’re going to be  _quite fucking naked_  with another naked person, that isn’t  _me_ , and just hearing the director run through his ideas with you and how he was Allison over you, in a bed, running her fingers through your chest hair and how that’s going to be the opening shot for the season, and all I could fucking think about is how I do that when we have sex and so how could what you are going to do with her  _not_  be real.” A few hot, stressed out, humiliated, frustrated, pissed off tears escaped your closed eyes anyway.

“Y/n,  _baby_ , it’s  _not_ -”

You cut Dylan off because you weren’t sure if you had sufficiently made your point yet. “ _But_ , like, how can it  _not_   _be_?” Your y/e/c eyes were popping against the redness that replaced the whites around your irises; that broke Dylan’s heart when you opened them to look at him again. He held you even closer. “How does someone do that and separate that act and the feelings that they are pretending to have, from the real thing? I can’t imagine that the lines aren’t easily blurred and that feelings don’t get confused and jumbled, and I mean, it happens all the time. It really does.”

“What does?” Dylan asked softly.

You dropped your gaze to the street below, but didn’t close your eyes. “People dating their love interests from a tv show or movie.” You paused. Dylan could practically read the next thing you were going to say, on your face, before it came off your tongue. “ _You did it_ ,” There it was. “and then you dated her for  _six years_.”

Dylan understood where you were coming from. He knew you weren’t accusing him of anything, or at least, he was pretty sure you weren’t. He just wanted to make you feel better about the situation. “That was different.”

“How was that  _different_?” You cocked your head to the side and sniffled. Your expression became somewhat hardened. “The last person you acted in a sex scene with, you fell in love with.”

Before Dylan continued, he had to nip the bud on the idea that was blooming in the back of his mind. “Do you not trust me?”

You slumped, your body’s way of sighing without actually, audibly sighing. You gazed up at Dylan and tucked your hand over his shoulder. “Of course I trust you.”

He nodded once. “Okay, well then, know that  _that_  was different.”

Your face showed how unconvinced you were by that vague answer. You widened your eyes and pursed your lips the way you always did before you said something dry and sarcastic. “Oh, well,  _if you say so_.”

Dylan couldn’t help but snicker at your sarcasm. It was one of the things he loved most about you. Your sarcasm rivaled his on every level and he enjoyed having someone who could dish it out as much as he could. He ran his thumb across your jaw, letting it linger to rub back and forth softly. The motion silenced you and stilled you; it wasn’t at all what you had been expecting in reaction to what you had just said.

Dylan seized upon your momentary muteness. “I’m serious. It was different.” He continued stroking your jaw. “ _For one_ , I was, like, twenty when I shot ’ _The First Time_ ’, so yeah, it was easy to confuse those feelings on and off camera and I let the lines blur.  _Second_ , I was single then, so it also wasn’t the biggest deal in the world to date my costar.  _Thir_ -”

You cut him off before he could say what his third point was. You felt like he just thoroughly proved your point. “But  _it happens_. Like, it seems like this role is way more in depth and way more physical and intimate than that one was and what if Ruth is just, like, charming and beautiful and a great kisser and you fall in love with her.”

Dylan smiled and it sparked a small ember of anger in your chest. You huffed in annoyance. “What’s so funny? I’m  _not_  being ridiculous. These are all completely valid fears,  _you asshat_.” Dylan snickered and that only made the ember brighter. “ _Shut. Up_. You could totally be swept away by her.”

Dylan shook his head, still smiling, but now leaning further into your body. “ _I couldn’t._ ” His heart rate picked up like a horse in a canter, trying to make it across the finish line of the Kentucky Derby first.

“ _Dyl_ -” You scoffed and huffed and pouted.

Dylan only smiled more. “No, Y/n,  _I couldn’t_. I could not be swept away by her.”

You jutted your hip out, tilted your head and gave him your best unamused glare. “And why’s that?”

Dylan’s smile faded slightly. He took a shaky breath and let his shaky hands rise from your neck, up to cup your cheeks, soft, yet firm. “Because of the  _third reason_ -” You arched your brows up, silently asking him to explain. “ _I love you_.”

 His smile faded even more and all that was left was intense sincerity and overt vulnerability. “I could never get swept up in some fake emotion for a costar because I love  _you_. If I had had you by my side while I was filming ’ _The First Time_ ’, I would have never gotten together with  _her_.” Saying Britt’s name felt sacrilege in the same breath that he had told you he loved you with. So he didn’t. “I have you by my side now, and I love you way more than you will ever know, so I will continue to belong to only you, and I will never get swept away by some costar.”

The horse in his heart was no longer cantering, it was in a full on gallop. Dylan’s brain was in a complete blank, except for the same four words repeating on a loop: ’ _Please say it back. Please say it back. Please say it back. Please say it back._ ’

You looked honestly awed. You blinked up at him for a few moments before you finally spoke, softly. “You love me?”

Dylan nodded slowly. His hands gently fell away from your face; he didn’t want you to know how much they were shaking, waiting, with the rest of him, for what you thought about that confession. “This wasn’t even remotely the way I wanted to tell you.” Dylan admitted. “I wanted to bring you to the Met and do it in front of your favorite painting, or say it over a candlelit dinner at my apartment, or I don’t know, fly you to Bali or something way more romantic,  _but_ -”

“This was way more romantic and perfect than any of those.” You interjected.

Dylan cocked his head back slightly. “ _Really_?”

You nodded and leaned your hands against his chest, curling his gray henley into your fingers.

“ _Really_.” Your face began to soften into something resembling a smile. “Those would’ve been nice and romantic and whatever, but  _this_ …” You shook your head and smiled more confidently, now leaning the rest of your body into his, digging your chin into his sternum, as you gazed up at him. Your body settled into a state of calm when his arms wrapped around you. “ _This_  was authentic and real and a good showing that you mean what you say.” You snickered and shook your head. “Here I am,  _spiraling_ , worrying about losing you, and bring me back to reality and you let me know that I’ve never had you more than I do in  _this_   _moment_.” Your fingers gripped his shirt tighter and you smiled. “You are truly spectacular, Dylan O'Brien.  _Honestly_. I am so lucky.”

Dylan supposed that if that was all you were willing to say back to him, if that was all you were feeling at that point, he could live with that. He could live with you feeling lucky to have him. He hoped love would come soon thereafter. A small twinge of disappointment lived in the pit of his chest anyway, though. He couldn’t help it.

“Well, I’m glad.” He muttered. For what he was glad, he didn’t really know. It was just all he could think to say, wanting to fill the silence and move the conversation away from the fact that he said ’ _I love you_ ’ and you didn’t say it back. “You really do have nothing to worry about. I promise.” He moved his still shaking hands up and down the rough denim that covered your back.

“I believe you.” You murmured, nuzzling your nose and cheek into his chest. “ _And I love you too, by the way_.”

It was very possible that he didn’t hear that correctly, his hopeful brain might have twisted your words. Your face was buried in his shirt, you whispered, and he was panicking silently. He could’ve misheard.

As if you were reading his mind, you picked your head up and stared up at him. Your y/e/c eyes never looking deeper or more filled with pure adoration than in that moment. “I love you so much, Dyl. I really do.”

He hadn’t misheard you.

You had said it.

 _You did love him_.

And now you were leaning in for a kiss. This was probably the best day of Dylan’s life. He melted, went absolutely boneless, in your arms, the moment that your soft lips pressed against his. He loved you with every fiber of his being, with every cell in his body, with every emotion in his chest.

_He._

_Loved._

_You._

You broke the life altering kiss and smiled against his lips. Dylan smiled back.

His eyes didn’t need to be open to see that you were positively glowing. You were stunning.

He was the luckiest man on earth.

“God, I love you, Y/n.” Dylan murmured, his eyes finally opening when he felt you nuzzling your face back against his chest. He pressed his cheek against the side of your head and whispered in your ear. “I love you immensely…  _incapacitatingly_..  _consumingly_ …  _consumedly_..” He paused, then snickered. “I don’t think those are even words anymore, but I can’t think of any other way to explain how much I love you,  _how much you are everything_.”

Your cheeks were flushed a bright pink and your expression exuded softness and trust. “You could kiss me again.”

So, Dylan did.

* * *

You desperately had to go home and do laundry, you had been avoiding it for days, and Dylan had an early call time for rehearsal before shooting, the next day, so you didn’t go home together that night.

He was still nervous about saying it.

It was still such a huge admittance, so, he went to bed without saying it again that day. The next morning, he woke up to a text that you had sent him, late the night before, after you had finished your laundry and were laying in bed.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _I was thinking about it, and I know that’s not how you wanted to tell me, but, baby, you telling me at lunch today means more to me than any of those other ways ever could have. Not everything has to be planned or has to be perfect… I’m going to remember that moment as the time where I was about to just grin and bear a situation that made me uncomfortable because it was what was best for you and your career, but wonderful you, knowing every crevice of my soul, knew something was off and decided to sacrifice all your planning and all your perfectly thought out sentimentality and romance and did the most loving thing you could’ve ever done, which was reassure me when I needed it the most._

**Y/n Y/L/N:** _You make me feel safe and known and validated and comfortable and, I feel very loved right now, Dylan O'Brien. I thought that you should wake up feeling the same way._

**Y/n Y/L/N** :  _I love you more than you know_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _Have a good day. I’ll see you for dinner. <3_

Dylan read it while he ate breakfast and drank coffee. He read it while he ran downstairs and grabbed yesterdays mail. He read it in the elevator. He read it in the hall. He read it on his couch. He read it standing in front of his closet, instead of actually picking out clothes to wear that day. Dylan had to keep himself from bringing his phone in the shower with him.

He reread those four texts more times than he had read the script he was to have memorized for the table read that afternoon. He imagined you laying in bed, a small crease pressed into your forehead, as you typed those words onto your screen, safe under the covers that probably smelled a bit like him.

He more than just loved you. He was quickly and without fear falling madly in love with you.

There was no turning back.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Dylan woke up first, four minutes before his alarm was meant to go off. He swiped his phone off of his nightstand and shut off the wake up call before it could echo loudly through the room and wake you up as well. He scrolled through the  _New York Daily Post_ , reading the overnight articles on the Mets search for a new manager to replace Terry Collins, the light from the screen illuminating his face, as the sun had not fully risen yet. 

His bedroom was on the colder side, an ever present reminder that summer was truly over and winter was well on its way.

He didn’t mind the cold very much.

 _But you did_.

He dropped his phone next to his pillow and turned over to find you. You were spread out, on your stomach, on the opposite side of his king sized bed, face buried deep in between two pillows, and the blankets pulled up past your shoulders; the only part of you peeking out was your y/e/c hair, laying across the pillow closest to him. It was barely a quarter passed five in the morning and the very last thing, besides leaving you in his bed, that Dylan wanted to do, was wake you up.

He turned onto his side and let all of his thoughts drift to the other person under his sheets.

 _You loved him_. 

He couldn’t fathom a world in which you loved him half as much as he loved you, but if that world did exist…  _god_ , Dylan felt like the luckiest man alive. 

In his most introspective moments, he felt undeserving for all he had: a happy, whole family, a steady and comfortable job, loyal and hilarious friends, a house in Los Angeles and an apartment in Manhattan, and  _you_ : the one that made him feel like whatever part was missing from him, had been filled, and was since overflowing.

He was grateful. Very, very grateful.

He wanted to reach out to touch you; your body a magnetic entity to him. He always wanted to reach out and touch you, reach out and kiss you, reach out and hold you. He wanted to hear you tell him about whatever crazy dream you had the night before or just what you planned on doing that day. He honestly just wanted to hear your voice. He figured he’d just watch some videos of the two of you, that were in his camera roll, on the subway to work in order to get his fix. It would be cruel to wake you up.

Still, the prospect was enticing.

 _He resisted_.

Dylan climbed out of bed and skulked quietly to his shower. He emerged in a cloud of steam ten minutes later, and began searching for something to wear to set, letting the light from the bathroom, and the growing light from between the curtains, guide him through his bedroom.

He turned on his coffee pot and grabbed an Eggo waffle from his freezer; he’d pick at something more substantial from the craft services table when he got to set. After shoving his phone in the front right pocket of his gray cords, Dylan sat in the chair in the corner of the room, tying the laces on his light gray Adidas. He leaned back in the chair for a minute, smiling over the fact that, from the new angle, he could actually see your face finally.

The face of the woman he loved.

It was a good face, sweet and knowing and goofy, yet serious. It was a face that filled picture frames around both his homes and presided as the background of his iPhone. A face that perfect, in his mind, had to be displayed and celebrated; or at the very least, admired constantly by him. It took everything in Dylan to push himself out of the chair and decide that it was time to leave, or risk missing his subway train. He snickered for a minute, hatching a plan in his head.

He quietly moved across the floor, towards the bed, and picked your phone off of your nightstand. He turned it from vibrate to silent; he’d call while you were still asleep and leave a voicemail telling you to have a good day and that he loved you. You did it for him every once in a while, when you knew he was working a long day and you hadn’t seen him; it always made his week when you did.

Dylan set your phone back down and began to turn to walk away, but before he could move a step, something caught his wrist, not firmly but flimsily and weak. You accidentally nicked his skin with your fingernail. It barely hurt. He paused, an instantaneous smile breaking out across his freshly brushed teeth, and crouched down next to the bed.

“ _Work_?” You slurred, eyes cracking open, fingers still wrapped around his bony wrist.

Dylan snickered quietly. “Yeah. I’ll be home late.”

You nodded, your eyes fluttering closed again. “ _Mmkay_. I love you. Have a good day.”

Dylan felt like he was floating. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the girl of his dreams casually, sleepily, instinctually telling him that she loved him. It was surreal and reality bending. It was everything to him.

He pretended that she slurred her words too much for him to understand. With a widening grin, Dylan spoke. “I’m sorry, what’d you say?”

A single eye cracked open, and a playfully unamused expression spread across your tired face. He swept his hand across your cheek and pushed the stray hairs back onto your pillow. “You know what I said.” You muttered, shutting your eye again.

Dylan snickered. “ _Please_? Say it again.” His thumb rubbed against your jawline.

A small huff came from your nostrils and you buried your face further into the pillow, but also closer to him, at the edge of the mattress. “I love you, Dylan O'Brien.”

Dylan sighed, happily. He leaned forward and brushed his lips against your cheek, his morning stubble scratching your skin lightly. You moaned softly, content to feel his warmth. He got level with the side of the bed again, and rubbed the backs of his knuckles against where his lips had just been. You cracked both eyes open and finally released his wrist, in favor of sweeping your fingers against the side of his neck. He didn’t need the coffee, when every single one of your touches was a jolt to his system. He was alive.

“I love you, Y/n Y/L/N. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You nodded, and smiled when Dylan leaned down for one final kiss on your cheek. “I love you so much.” He repeated. “Go back to sleep. It’s so early.”

You scrunched the fabric around the neck of his shirt and then released him, letting your arm retreat back under the warmth of the covers. Dylan closed the door to his bedroom behind him, grabbed his coffee and headed out the door. Now that it had been said, he didn’t understand what in the world made it so hard to say in the first place. ’ _I love you_.’ was not that complicated. It was how he felt for weeks, arguably months, and it honestly wasn’t that difficult to express.

In actuality, it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. Now, it simply rolled off his tongue. Now, it tasted delicious, not like nerves and fear. Now, it lulled him to sleep and filled him with energy to get through his day. Now, ’ _I love you_ ’ was the only thing he ever really wanted to say. When he saw your face, it was the only thing he could think. He was in a constant mood of professing his adoration and listing all of the reasons why he was so devoted to you.

He wondered how could he have possibly ever had so much trouble saying it in the first place? He’d never quite know.

* * *

* * *

“You sure that you don’t want to stand at the side of the stage?” Dylan turned over his shoulder to ask you, smiling as he felt your hands lightly tugging at the back of his shirt. You were not remotely paying attention to him paying for your beers, your head was turned towards the stadium, where you could hear the concert starting. “ _Babe_..” Dylan chuckled, as he finally turned and handed you your beer.

“ _Oh_ , yes, I’m positive. Come on, I fucking love this song so much.”

Dylan grinned at your antsy nature and swept his free hand out in front of him. “Lead the way.”

You were all pearly whites, as you grabbed his hand and took off in a half jog towards the entrance of Forest Hills Stadium. You spotted your best friend, Sarah, who was waiting off to the side to bring the two of you to where your friends were watching the concert, on the floor in front of the stage. You both hugged Sarah quickly and followed her, as she serpentined through the throngs of swaying people, enjoying the beginning of ’ _Guilty Party_ ’.

“ _[I say your name. I say I’m sorry. I’m the one doing this. There’s no other way. It’s nobody’s fault. There’s no guilty party.](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DRrvX1pSpfhM&t=YjRmOWQ0ODk1YjQ4OTE4OGJlNjg3NDUyNmVkNmJjNzNlOWUzNGZkMSw1MldzREc2TA%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170790566272%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-18-dylan-obrien&m=1)_ ”

“ **YOOO** , you made it!” Your best guy friend, John, shouted, as he hugged you, and then shook Dylan’s hand. You quickly introduced Dylan to the two in your friend group, who he had yet to meet, and then tucked in together amongst the crowd.

Dylan liked seeing you with your friends. You were relaxed and quick and clearly in your element. Dylan couldn’t wipe the soft smile off his face because you couldn’t seem to wipe the soft smile off of yours. He was unsure if he had ever felt so content before.

He had a good dinner and two beers in his belly, an incredibly foggy and warm night, for New York in October, clinging to his skin, gentle piano keys being struck in his ears, and most importantly, the girl he was falling in love with more and more each passing second, swaying in his arms. He dug the tips of his fingers deeper against the skin covering your hips and nuzzled his nose into the hair above your ear.

He couldn’t keep his hands off of you that night. When you emerged from the bathroom with your hair pin straight, framing your face perfectly, a dark red matte color covering your lips, a low cut, body hugging black tank top tucked into your tight black skinny jeans, with the lacy bits of the top of your bra peeking out of the neckline of your shirt and your usual jean jack thrown lazily over your shoulders, he was entranced. 

You looked dark and sexy and alluring. He was sufficiently allured.

You had bought the tickets back in April, before you met him, for yourself, Maddie, Ryan, Sarah, John and a handful of your friends from high school, but Dylan had Mary work some magic and got him a ticket as well. He stood on the floor of the old, repurposed, outdoor Forest Hills Tennis Stadium and felt  _anonymous_. 

No one there was paying attention to the fact that he was  _Dylan O'Brien_. 

No one was giving him special treatment. He stood in the long lines to get through security like everyone else. He paid for his beer like everyone else. No one stopped him and asked him for an autograph.  _No one cared who he wa_ s. 

He was allowed to simply  _be_.

Allowed to be Dylan. 

Allowed to be Y/n Y/L/N’s boyfriend.

 Allowed to be a fan of The National. 

Allowed to hang out with a group of people that had accepted him as one of their own. 

Allowed to be normal and happy and like everyone else.

He enjoyed your friends. They reminded him of his own. They were snarky and smart and clearly enjoyed spending time with each other. He laughed that between songs, all of you would crowd around John’s phone to see the score of Game Two of the ALCS between the Yankees and the Cleveland Indians, which had gone into extra innings, tied at 8-8. He liked the dynamics of the group. He liked that he felt like it was a place that he belonged; a feeling that did not necessarily come easy to him when it came to new people.

Dylan enjoyed the way that you seemed mesmerized by the trumpets and trombones that played during ‘ _[Carin at the Liquor Store](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3Dz9pj5a84b10&t=ZmExMDc2NzVlNzQ4ZGRiMGViMWJiMjcxMDg4OWRkYTE4ZDIxNGYxNiw1MldzREc2TA%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170790566272%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-18-dylan-obrien&m=1)_ ’ and the light show that was put on during ‘ _[About Today](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D6I4bsKzYPo0&t=Mzg4NTk0MDljYTRjMGU0MzY4OGMwYmQ1NWZhZjFmYWJiNThhZjBjZiw1MldzREc2TA%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170790566272%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-18-dylan-obrien&m=1)_ ’. He liked the way that you relaxed in his arms, leaning all your weight against his chest, during ‘ _[I Need My Girl](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DVWFIyLQqp1w&t=MDc4MzcyOTRmN2UzODhjNmMyNzE4YmFmMTgxMGUyNmMyODk2MmMwZSw1MldzREc2TA%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170790566272%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-18-dylan-obrien&m=1)_ ’. He liked that he knew that The National didn’t necessarily do happy love songs, but the way you made him feel, made everything sound gooey and filled with pure devotion.

‘ _[Dark Side of the Gym](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DsGSJClr8Dwk&t=ZjRmMWIxYmNiOTllMjdiODczZTAxZGY4MGY2Zjc0ODY4OWFmOWU1OSw1MldzREc2TA%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170790566272%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-18-dylan-obrien&m=1)_ ’ began playing and you wrapped your hands back around the nape of Dylan’s neck. The two of you swayed in unison, as Dylan whispered the words into your ear, while Matt Berninger sang them through the speakers. “ _But I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while. I’m gonna keep you in love with me. I’m gonna keep you in love with me for a while. I’m gonna keep you in love with me._ ”

During ‘ _[This Is The Last Time](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D4PnrR010ozg&t=MDlkMzhmNDU0Nzk2M2E3N2ZlZGE5NWMwY2ZlZDdlNDJmMGI0OTI0Myw1MldzREc2TA%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170790566272%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-18-dylan-obrien&m=1)_ ’, a song that Dylan knew was one of your favorites, and was frankly one of his favorites for the sole reason of the way that you tended to sing it when you were in the shower, he realized that you were standing on your tiptoes. He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Can you not see?”

You turned your head back to look at him, the most content expression resting on your face. You shrugged and smiled. “Not really.”

“ _Babe_ , we can try to get closer or I can put you on my shoulders or something.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “Can you though?”

Dylan sneered. “I mean, probably. I still have some of that American Assassin muscle…  _somewhere_..”

You laughed and shook your head. “I’m fine. This is my third time seeing them. As long as I can hear, I’m happy. Can you see?” You asked, your brows arching up in wonder.

“Yeah.”

“Then I’m good.” You flashed him a genuine smile and pecked him on the lips before returning to your previous position.

Dylan stood in awe of the way that The National performed their closing song,  _Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks_. It was a couple of unplugged acoustic guitars, a trumpet, a trombone, a tambourine and no microphones. Dylan closed his eyes and listened to the crowd singing back each word to the band, singing it to them on the stage.

“ _All the very best of us string ourselves up for love. All the best of us string ourselves up for love. Vanderlyle crybaby, cry. Oh, the waters a rising, there’s still no surprising you_.”

Dylan leaned forward again when he felt your fingers curl around his, wrapped around your stomach. He leaned forward far enough that he could see how the white lights from the stage bounced off the gentle curve of your happy cheekbones. He kissed at them and felt nothing but the purest form of love when you leaned into him and he heard you singing along with the rest of the crowd.

“I love you.” He whispered, barely audible above the singing. He felt your smile and a soft kiss against his cheek and he knew that was you telling him you loved him too.

* * *

* * *

Dylan rolled his eyes when HBO asked him if he was still watching.  _Of course he was still watching_.

He pressed a button on his remote and the next episode of  _The Newsroom_  began playing. You had been talking up the HBO show for months, and he agreed that if he liked ‘ _The Newsroom_ ’, he would watch what you really had been wanting him to watch with you: ‘ _The West Wing_ ’. As much as Christopher Nolan movies were your bread and butter, Aaron Sorkin tv shows were your entire meal. 

He liked the way that you tended to watch him while he watched each new episode. He wondered if you felt the same electrifying thrill, when he watched you watch movies he loved, as he felt when you watched him watch the show about a cable news network.

You had fallen asleep half way through the last episode. The moment you draped a blanket over yourself and Dylan pulled your feet into his lap so that he could rub them, you passed out. You had been running yourself ragged between work and taking your grandmother to ever increasing amounts of doctor’s appointments. She had passed out at the dinner table, at your uncle’s house, a week prior and the doctor’s had been trying to determine the cause ever since, suddenly doubting if her only issue was her afib. He considered every night that you actually decided to sleep at his apartment an actual blessing.

He turned his head to the left, leaning his cheek against the back of the couch, barely listening to the theme music playing in front of him. He simply watched your shoulder rise and fall, under the blanket, and he continued kneading his thumbs into the balls of your right foot. The next day was Saturday and the two of you actually had no where to be, for once. The plan was to lock the door, turn off your phones, and not be anything less than horizontal with one another for the entire day; or at least until you promised to make him dinner.

Dylan didn’t understand why something as simple and benign as watching you sleep and getting the privilege of rubbing your feet made his chest swell with the purest of love and desire. It wasn’t a lusty desire either; it was more of a yearning for your love, for your touch, for your everything. 

 _For you_. 

God, he was just a total sap, completely in love with you.

Lethargy hit him in a wave of warmth and safety. He leaned forward to put the remote on the coffee table, next to his phone and his beer, and he sidled up behind you, on his deep couch. You groaned softly and Dylan pressed a couple long kisses onto the back of your head. Your toes, instinctively looking for warmth, buried themselves under his sock-covered feet, and he pulled the excess part of the blanket over himself. He found a comfortable position in holding you tightly against his chest, and he tucked your head under his chin.

Dylan watched about eleven more minutes of the new episode before his eyelids began to droop and finally, he gave in; letting sleep overtake his body, while he was wrapped up in the woman he adored.

He’d waited all week for this moment, and it was worth it.

* * *

* * *

“Hey, so, uh..” Dylan ran his fingers against his lips, looking over your shoulder at the director, who was trying to hurry him back to the set. “I don’t know if you wanna wait in my trailer or-”

You looked around at the people milling about, before cutting Dylan off. “Oh, shit, am I not allowed to be here?”

Dylan bent at his knees and cupped your cheeks, getting you to look at him, now eye level with you. “No, no, no, no, you are absolutely allowed to be here. I am so happy you are here, and honestly, thank you again for bringing me that soup. I know it’s going to make me feel better.” He leaned forward and pressed a very warm kiss to your forehead. You hated that he had to work, despite the fact that he was pretty sick with what felt like a low grade fever. Your fingers curled into his shirt, as you stepped closer to him.

“If I’m allowed to be here, why would I want to wait in your trailer? I like watching you work.”

Dylan sighed from his mouth, just barely able to breath through his nose still. He tilted his head to the side and his expression read as somber. It made you worried. “Um,” He rubbed his middle finger into the corner of his eye. “they moved the shooting schedule around because something wasn’t ready for one of the scenes that we were supposed to shoot today, so now we’re shooting one of the sex scenes..” He cringed, as the last few words left his lips.

“ _Oh_.” You felt your stomach turn slightly, and you tried to breathe through it. “ _Okay_.” You murmured, hesitantly. “Okay,” You tried to make your voice sound more firm, more sure. “no big deal. I’m gonna watch the show when it comes out so I might as well see this shit now.”

“I guess.” Dylan’s brows were furrowed in concern.

“No, no, it’ll be good. You said that behind the scenes, sex scenes are really technical and impersonal, like twenty-five people all staring at you while the director yells at you to sound more breathy. I think hearing that and seeing it will probably make it seem less real to me.”

Dylan nodded. “It is pretty awkward.”

“Do you mind if I stay?”

Dylan shook his head emphatically. “No, no, I don’t mind at all. I just wanna make sure you’re going to be alright.” He ran his hands up and down your arms.

You smiled softly, the slightest bit of a smirk hiding at the corners of your mouth. You leaned into him again, and he wrapped his arms around the small of your back. “Tell me you love me.”

Dylan felt his heart flutter, which was silly, in actuality, since the two of you had been saying it like it was going out of style, but flutter his heart did. He smiled, sincerely smiled, down at you. “I love you.” He whispered, so that only you could hear. “So much.”

“How much?” You teased, rocking back and forth in his hold.

“More than the Mets.” Dylan whispered, even quieter than before.

You fake-gasped. “Take that back.”

Dylan snickered. “I don’t love you more than the Mets.”

“Thank god.” You tilted your head back and let out a huff. “That’s way too much pressure.”

Dylan laughed. “Don’t tell them I said that.”

You leaned up to kiss him on the jaw. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I do love you very much though.”

You pressed another kiss against his neck. “I love you too. Go shoot your scene. I’ll be fine.”

Dylan lingered for a moment, staring at you, while you stared at him. He nodded once. “Okay.”

A swift kiss to the forehead, and suddenly, he was walking back towards where the rest of the crew had assembled and been waiting. He said some quick apologies for keeping people, then sat by Ruth, his co-star, and listened as the director gave them some instruction. You watched from the side, as the set went quiet and the director yelled ‘Action’, and suddenly Dylan and Ruth were pretending to have dinner at his dining room table. Quickly, the tension of the scene picked up and Dylan was pushing Ruth up against the counter in his character’s kitchen, and clothes were coming off.

“Okay. I’m good.” You quietly mumbled to yourself, before silently exiting the room, to return to Dylan’s trailer and not have to watch your boyfriend kiss some other woman’s jugular.

About forty-five minutes past, before the door to Dylan’s trailer opened, and Dylan, himself, climbed inside, brow furrowed, fluffy white robe on, and clothes rumpled into a ball at his side. He dropped them to the floor and eyed you on the couch. He managed to look equal parts relieved and tense. He fiddled with the sash on his robe and stared at you, from under his long brown lashes.

“You dipped out of there pretty early.”

You nodded. “How’d it go?”

Dylan shrugged. “Fine. You okay?”

You shrugged, and now Dylan nodded.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower.”

“Okay.” You whispered, forcing a soft smile onto your face.

Dylan emerged ten minutes later in a black pair of sweats that you had bought him and a white t-shirt, his hands rubbing the towel back and forth through his perfect chocolate brown hair. He seemed a little less tense, and a bit more relieved now, and you wondered if he simply needed to wash off what he had just done in order to feel like himself again. You tried not to dwell on what he may have just done.

“How are you really?”

You thought about shrugging again or lying and saying 'fine’, but he was asking a second time for a reason, so you went with the truth instead. “I’m pretty fucking jealous right now, if I’m being honest.” Dylan’s lips quirked up a bit in the right corner. “I don’t like anyone touching you, let alone…” You trailed off, not wanting to literally say what the 'let alone’ was. “I don’t know, D, it makes me go a little crazy or something.”

“Jealous, huh?” Dylan’s tone was more lax, almost teetering on teasing. You narrowed your eyes at him. “I don’t think you have anything to be jealous over.”

You scrunched your face. Your boyfriend was an idiot. “Really? You were just like sticking your tongue down some other woman’s throat and I shouldn’t be the slightest bit jealous of that?”

Dylan smirked, stepping forward another step closer, while shaking his head. “Nah. You wanna hear a secret?”

“Depends.” You leveled your most unamused glower at him. He pressed forward despite the unhappy look you were sending his way, and before you realized it, Dylan was swinging his legs over yours and settling his body over you, straddling your lap. Your hands instinctively went to his stomach, before your fingers dipped under his t-shirt, and curled under the waistband of his sweats. This was unexpected, but not at all unwanted.

Dylan leaned down and pressed a warm kiss against your lips. You moaned quietly into his mouth, as his long fingers got tangled up in your hair.

He broke away, out of breath and pink in the cheeks, a little more droopy eyed than he was mere seconds earlier. “Was that the secret?” You asked, letting your fingers trace towards the back of his waistband, enjoying the fact that he neglected to put on underwear.

Dylan chuckled. “No. I just wanted to kiss you.” He winked, and you honestly felt your heart jump a bit. “The secret is… remember how the first day I told you about the role, you talked about Ruth and her duck lips,” You snickered, unable and unwilling to hide your amusement at your cruelty. “and how you thought that Dominic always looked like the worst kisser because it looked like he was eating her chin?”

You smirked. “Yea…?”

Dylan smirked too. “Turns out, she’s the chin eater.”

Your eyes widened and your nostrils flared, your mouth gaping open. “Shut the fuck up.” You sniggered. “She’s a bad kisser?” You weren’t even remotely trying to hide your pleasure over the new revelation.

Dylan nodded. “I thought it was like first time jitters during the first shoot for the first episode, but then we just shot that and honestly, it almost kind of hurt.” Dylan rubbed at the stubble on his chin.

You laughed. “Aw, poor thing.” You pulled one hand from where it rested, under the fabric of his pants, kneading small circles into his hipbone, feeling him grow on top of you, and rested it on his cheek. “She’s really a bad kisser?” You asked, just wanting to hear it one more time.

Dylan nodded slowly, not wanting to break his intense eye contact with you. “She’s got nothing on my girl.” He leaned down to kiss you quickly, his hands now running up your ribs on the inside of your shirt. “Nothing.”

“Do you have more to shoot today?” You asked, finally breaking away from having his tongue in your mouth.

Dylan shook his head. “I’m done.”

“Good.” You pulled him down, on top of you, as the two of you fell back against the couch.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Dylan glanced around the living room; this was how he always wanted his life to be, if he could help it.

He snickered, as he relinquished his grip on your hip and leg, letting you quickly jump to your feet, at the same time as Maddie, in order to yell profanities at the television. Something about a 'short motherfucker’ and how you hated him; Maddie quickly and adamantly agreeing with you. The inning was over and the game broke for commercials, and Dylan watched as you readjusted your Yankees cap, while walking over to the fridge to grab drinks. You pulled out three beers, holding the necks in between your slender fingers, and handed one to Julia and the other to Dylan, himself, before sitting back into his lap. The sound of your voice, as you, Maddie, Julia and Ryan yelled back and forth about the last inning, filled Dylan with such joy, such relaxed peace, such an easy sense of belonging, that he pressed his nose and forehead into your shoulder.

You barely noticed, too wrapped up in your heated discussion about how Judge was absolutely more of MVP material that Altuve. The short motherfucker. Julia made a joke about Judge’s dick being bigger than Altuve’s entire person and you laughed so hard that Dylan honestly thought beer might come out of your nose.

This was bliss.

He wasn’t religious. His family never really had been. He supposed, technically speaking, he was some type of Christian, at least growing up, becaues, at the very least, the O'Brien’s celebrated Christmas, but he didn’t know if he truly believed in an afterlife. However, if Dylan had to conjure up an image of his own personal heaven, it would be the scene in front of him: you curled up in his lap, on the not-quite-loveseat-armchair, screaming slanderous things at your television, your sister and future brother-in-law agreeing with you from the couch, Dylan’s own sister, and her new girlfriend, Sophia, leaning on each other and the bottom of the couch, sitting on the floor, laughing and agreeing, his stomach full of the pulled pork sandwiches you had made, and his head slightly woozy from the beer.

So many people he loved in one room. It was truly his picture of paradise.

He liked how comfortable and normal this night felt to him. Maddie and Ryan had been hanging out with you and him at least once a week, on nights that weren’t too crazy, now that he was working again, and Julia seemed happier with Sophia by her side. He snickered, internally, over the way that he could spot the differences in how each couple treated each other, denoting the amount of time they had been together. Maddie and Ryan, dating for years and years, sat lazily, yet comfortably next to each other, fleeting touches and knowing jokes; a connection that could only be had through time spent together. Julia and Sophia buzzed with nervous, excited energy. They pawed at each other and twisted toward one another. Quick, bashful kisses and sweaty palms, holding back on getting overly excited about the game or holding back on complaining about how they didn’t really watch baseball. They were a couple full of potential.

Then there was you and Dylan; almost half a year since meeting each other, and a few solid months of dating under your belts. You were well past the newness of Julia and Sophia, but not even close to the comfortable, blissful boredom of Maddie and Ryan. The two of you were somewhere in between.

Some place where all Dylan ever wanted to do was discuss how much he loved you. Some place where he wanted some part of his body to be touching some part of your body at pretty much all times. Some place where he wanted to make long-term plans with you, but he wasn’t sure if it was too soon yet. Some place where he could pretty much tell what you were thinking solely by the look on your face. Some place where the kisses were still electric and the conversation still new. Some place where the two of you had inside jokes and specific glances or gestures that made the other one burst out into spontaneous, and seemingly random fits of laughter.

Some place where along the line, without him realizing it, you had become his best friend.

Dylan laughed to himself because he realized that the two of you were in the place in your relationship where he just couldn’t absolutely hate your team, even though it wasn’t his team, anymore; because it was your team, and them winning would make you so happy, and also, he guessed Aaron Judge was kind of dope. Whatever.

He rubbed his strong hands against the sides of your thighs and leaned his forehead into your shoulder blade. You turned, lowering the bottle of beer from your lips and glanced at him. “You okay?” Dylan looked up with a smile, and nodded. “Am I being too loud?”

“Would you be quiet even if I thought you were?” Dylan asked, a smirk settling on his lips.

You scoffed. “Psh. Nope.” You took a swig of your beer and Dylan laughed. “Can you get in there and beat the crap out of Verlander? Some, like, real Mitch Rapp bullshit, honey.”

Dylan busted out laughing, pulling you deeper onto his lap. “Don’t want to damage my throwing hand either. Sorry.” He shrugged, facetiously, because apparently that was a thing that Dylan O'Brien could do.

You groaned and rolled your eyes, leaning into his chest and humming softly, as he pressed a succession of kisses onto the hand holding your beer. Suddenly you jumped up, not getting too far, as Dylan refused to let you pop completely out of his lap. He wasn’t ready for the separation, but he did lean forward too.

Chase Headley was up to bat. He had never been one of the greats, but he was certainly better in previous years, and the only reason they were bringing him out now, the night of Game Five of the ALCS Championship against the Houston Astros; a game that possibly determined whether or not, on a rebuilding year, the Yankees would go to the World Series, was because apparently, for some freak reason, Chase Headley batted well against Justin Verlander, the Astro’s pitcher who was having the game of his life. Your beer was discarded on the coffee table, and basically everyone else in the room was equally on edge, except for Sophia, who definitely had no idea what was happening. Dylan watched you, with pure love in his heart, as you pleaded with Headley through your television.

“Come on, Headley. Come on, Headley. Come on, you dumb fuck, be worth that multi-million dollar contract.”

Suddenly, Headley hit the ball, and took off running for first. Everyone in the room was on their feet. Headley wasn’t the fastest, and it was grounded basically into Jose Altuve’s glove, so the odds weren’t great, but hope was alive. Altuve threw it to first base and struck Headley out before he ever had a chance.

“Fucking damnit.” Dylan muttered, at the same time that you yelled. “God fucking damnit, he can hit it against Verlander, but he can’t fucking run. Fucking useless.”

Then the wheels in your head began to turn a little faster, and you spun around to look at your boyfriend, as the commercials played in the background, and everyone settled back into their spots. You leaned your knee against the cushion, next to Dylan’s thigh, and grinned down at him. “I’m sorry,” You spoke in a low voice, trying to keep the conversation between the two of you. “did I hear you just say 'fucking damnit.’ when Headley, a New York Yankee, mind you, struck out?”

Dylan snickered, shook his head and took a sip of his I.P.A. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You ignored his denial. “Are you…” You paused to fake gasp. “Is Dylan O'Brien actually rooting for the Yankees? WHAT?” You shouted the last word and Dylan laughed out loud.

“Maybe.”

“Oh my god. You really do love me.” You pressed your hand against your chest and fluttered your lashes.

Dylan smiled. “I really do.”

You leaned in close, now whispering, a shit eating grin spread across your face. “Now say you love the Yankees more than the Mets.”

“I will never love you that much.” Dylan snickered, before pulling you back down into his lap and kissing you.

* * *

* * *

Dylan woke up with the seventh episode’s script splayed across his chest.

 _He was exhausted_. 

In just under four weeks, he had filmed six episodes of 'The Affair’ and in doing so, seemingly, traveled all over the state of New York. He wasn’t sure how he forgot how fucking gigantic of a god damn place it was, but in the span of filming, he had certainly been reminded. He’d also spent a handful of nights up later than he should’ve been watching baseball with you and vehemently rooting for the Dodgers because he was pretty sure that you would never forgive him for rooting for the team that kept the Yankees from going to the World Series, and also cause, in a way, the Dodgers were one of his hometown teams. On top of all of that, he’d spent an entire night in the waiting room of St. Francis hospital with you, since your Grandmother had fainted again.

Basically, Dylan had been running himself a little too ragged and it was showing in the way that he would randomly pass out anytime he got remotely comfortable and warm.

He blinked himself back into a waking existence, and tried to remember whether or not you had said you were staying over that night. He was pretty sure you were. He couldn’t trust his brain to know fully though. 

His breath was heavy and filled with sleep, his eye lids felt the same. He pulled his feet off their perch on the wooden coffee table, in front of the couch, and heard both of his knees crack loudly. He groaned and then cracked his neck. He wished he hadn’t fallen asleep in that position. 

He wished he could be teleported into his bed, regardless of the fact that it was just the next room over. He scrubbed his hand over his face and peeled his script off his chest, placing it open to his current page, on the couch. He’d try to memorize his lines more tomorrow before the table read.

He groaned again, as he hoisted himself up off the couch. He went around, slowly and quietly, shutting off the lights and locking the deadbolt on his front door. When he opened the door to his bedroom, he was met with a dissipating wall of steam and the gentle lull of your voice. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in. 

God, help him, he lived to hear you singing in the shower, or the car,  _or in general_.

But he liked it especially when you were alone in the shower and you thought no one was listening. He could tell that there was a difference in the way you pushed your voice when you thought no one would be able to hear if you messed up. He sat on the foot of his bed, braced his elbows against his thighs and sunk his nails into his scalp, dragging them through his hair, before resting his forehead in his palms. He simply listened to you.

“ _[Turn me up in this place. It’s an ocean of sounds, yeah.](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DM1hEF1vZ4oc&t=MTBiNmIxOGNjY2RkZjQ2MjFkYTg4ODcxOWY4NTYwNDkwNjg4NmE2NCw1MldzREc2TA%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F170790566272%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-18-dylan-obrien&m=1)_ ”

He had heard you sing this song before and the overt jazziness of it registered in the way that you modulated your tone. He smiled against his hands. 

You were everything he loved in this world. Where mere moments before, all Dylan wanted was to sleep for four days straight, to not be bothered and to just feel renewed; now, all he wanted was to listen to you sing until his brain seized from lack of sleep.

“ _Said turn me up in this place, yeah, till the notion is found. No, I don’t want to see. It feels like I’ve been such a stranger, mm._ ”

Dylan glanced up, through the fog of warm air, and saw you swaying your hands in the water streaming down onto your body. He snickered and smiled, utterly smitten with the woman in his shower, then leaned back on his bed and closed his eyes, unwittingly letting you lull him back to sleep.

“ _D_ …” You gently rubbed his stomach, over his flannel shirt, and watched his head loll to the side slightly. “Dyl, wake up.”

He groaned softly, guttural and throaty, as he came to. His eyes fluttered open and the softest smile spread across his lips. “What time is it?”

“Bedtime.” You whispered, smiling back at the man you loved.

Dylan nodded, childlike and innocent, sweet and sleepy. He was everything that made you believe in magic. “ _You look nice_.” He murmured.

You laughed softly and touched at the towel wrapped up on top of your head, drying your hair. “Thanks, honey. You do too.” Dylan snickered and ran his fingers along your side. You pulled at his forearm, helping him sit up straight. “Come on, ya lump.” You groaned exaggeratedly. “Put these on.” You handed him a clean pair of boxer briefs and a t-shirt that you had picked out for him to sleep in, trying to streamline the process that led to him sleeping for good, as much as possible.

“Thanks.” Dylan smiled.

You smiled back and walked away to brush your hair out before bed. A few moments later, Dylan sidled up behind you, his hands connecting with your hips and his lips connecting with your shoulder. He loved the way his t-shirts smelled after you wore them. They were unmistakably the scent of you: vanilla shampoo and perfume, deodorant, and minty chapstick. 

He picked up his toothbrush, ran it under water for a moment, then spread the toothpaste over the bristles before shoving it in his mouth. He watched you, in the mirror, brushing your y/h/c strands out, still damp from the shower, in turn, watching him, in the mirror, brushing his teeth. He liked the way the two of you looked standing next to one another. To him, it looked like you two belonged with one another.

He spat into the sink, and washed his mouth out of residual sudsy paste, around the time that you had hung your towel up on the rung behind the door that had all but officially become only for your towel. He liked that you had a towel, and a towel hook. He liked how often you were around. He liked it all.

Dylan shut off the light and silently followed you to bed. He ran his legs along your smooth, freshly shaved limbs, as he climbed under the covers and waited for you to decide on whatever position the two of you would sleep in that night. You seemed preoccupied with your phone, so Dylan simply laid on his side and watched you, eyes drooping slowly. 

Your voice cut through the quiet night air and his eyes snapped open. “What time do you have to be at Silvercup in the morning?”

“ _Uh_ …. Eight, I think.”

“So, you have to leave here by like fifteen after seven, latest, right?” You asked. Dylan nodded. “Sleep in tomorrow. I’ll get up early and make you an actual breakfast.”

Dylan’s heart swelled. He wanted to tell you that you didn’t have to do that, but he knew that you knew that. You simply wanted to take care of him. “ _Why_?” He was so tired that he was pretty much down to either one-syllable words or silence.

You set your phone down on your nightstand and then turned back to stroke Dylan’s scruffy cheek. You pressed a velvety kiss against his temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, before stroking his hair with your fingers. “You just seem so exhausted, and I know part of that is because of me. I just want  _to_ ,” You shrugged, then got under the covers with him. His fingers found your fingers quickly. “I don’t know, D, just let me make you breakfast tomorrow,  _okay_?”

Dylan nodded, and used every last bit of energy he had to lean forward and lay a kiss against your knuckles. “Night, beautiful.”

“Sweet dreams, love.” Was the last thing Dylan heard before he drifted off to sleep, his fingers still holding yours near his lips, but not before one final thought came to mind: sometimes ’ _I love you_ ’ was said in the things that people did, along with the things that people said. Dylan thought that you getting up early just to make him breakfast was you telling him how much you loved him.

_He loved you too._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi hi hi. So, where to begin? This chapter pretty much encompasses the entirety of the month of October. I think the first part, at Penthouse 808, I set as like October 3rd, the next part with a definitive date, The National concert, was October 6th, and the last part with a definitive date was the Yankee game, which was October 20th. (hint, hint, the Yankees lost and all my happiness was lost with them). 
> 
> I made the author’s note at the end because I just didn’t want to spoil anything before it was read, but I wanted this chapter to be a description of all the simple ways you can love a person. I wanted it to be a testament to the depth of Dylan’s feelings. It still borders on infatuation, I suppose, but I like to think that he is aware of that, and he is moving swiftly into something more real and serious. 
> 
> I also find that I have odd quirks that maybe other people don’t share (example, apparently, i am the only person on earth that spells ‘yeah’ as ‘yea’. we are all works in progress, okay?) So, I suppose that some of my characters end up with those quirks as well. To me, you can love someone and not be in love with them, so like every time i write that Dylan is ‘falling in love’ with the reader, that is a big deal. in my brain, that’s huge. i hope that is huge to you all, as well. 
> 
> lastly, that song, in case you don’t click on the links ever, was by the incredibly talented Jordan Rakei. you should all check him out.


	19. Dylan's New York Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan can’t make a decision, so Y/n makes it for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter encompasses the first ten days of November 2017 and yeah, if any of you honestly thought we were getting out of this alive without me hurting all your feels in a big way, this is obviously your first rodeo with me.

 

Dylan pressed a kiss against your elbow, then burrowed deeper into the bed, closer to you. His eyes were closed and his feet were tangled up with yours. He looked content and peaceful and relaxed. You scraped your fingers against his scalp, letting his soft hair run between your fingers. He quietly groaned every time you brushed your hands through his locks.

Sunday mornings in bed were what the two of you lived for now that you were both so busy with work and family.

You pushed back his hair and traced your index finger over the well concealed scars from the surgeries that followed his accident, and you wondered what your life would be like without him in it. The thought made your stomach turn. He was everything to you and the mere idea of losing him drowned you in dread and anxiety.

You pressed a prolonged, warm kiss against one of his scars and heard him coo. You shut your eyes and nuzzled your nose into his hair. You smiled softly when you felt his hands snake around your hip and your elbow.

 _Everything_.

 _He was everything_.

* * *

* * *

Dylan groaned in exasperation and flopped dramatically at the foot of his bed. “I don’t wanna.” He grumbled into his comforter.

You nudged his forehead with your toes, through the blanket, and he grunted exaggeratedly. “Blow it off.”

“Mary would fucking kill me,” Dylan looked up with a grin. “and she already thinks you’re a terrible influence on me." 

You rolled your eyes. You were constantly trying to make sure that Dylan was putting his career first still. You had no idea why Mary loathed you so much. It irked you.

"Yeah,  _well_ , Mary can go fuck herself.” You grumbled, crossing your arms. You knew that Dylan had said it as a joke, but it honestly bothered you that she didn’t like you. You genuinely didn’t think she had a valid reason.

Dylan snickered. “You tell her, baby.” Dylan crawled up the bed towards you, tucked grumpily under his blankets. Your scowl didn’t falter even as he straddled you. “ _Oh_ , you’re actually pissed. What’s wrong?”

Your scowl deepened, somehow. “I just don’t fucking get why she thinks I’m, like, ruining your fucking career. I never tell you to blow off work or parties or networking things. I don’t appreciate that she assumes that I am fucking up your job opportunities.”

Dylan frowned and then paused.

“ _What_?” You pressed, knowing he had just thought of something he was reluctant to say.

He hesitated for another moment. “ _Um_ , I’ve actually.. and it’s not like you even  _knew_  about them, so it wasn’t your fault. It was my decision-”

“What did  _you_  do?” You furrowed your brow and stared up at him, still hanging over you.

“I,  _uh_ ,” Dylan stammered and licked his lips, biding himself time. “I, um, may have skipped two of these industry networking parties and an invitation to go to a movie premiere in L.A. since we’ve been dating, and that  _may_   _be_  why Mary is pissed or suspicious or whatever..”

You gaped at Dylan for a few moments, stunned by this new information, then you maneuvered to wriggle out from underneath him, in order to sit up right against the headboard. “You did fucking  _what_?!” You raised your voice.

“Y/n-” Dylan sat back on his heels, your legs still underneath his weight.

You balled your hands up into little fists and left them in your lap, as you cocked your head back, to show him how angry you were. “You skipped work shit because of  _me_? I didn’t ask you to do that!”

“I know, I know. We had plans and shit like that, and I didn’t want to go. I’ve done it before. I’m not required to go to every single thing that Mary wants me to go to.” Dylan began before you cut him off.

“Did you do that shit before we started dating?” You asked, your voice deeper and more serious than before, more accusatory and raw.

Dylan frowned and shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Which means not really.” Your nostrils flared as you shook your head. “ _Cool_. So, Mary has thought that I’m ruining your career this whole time for a reason.  _Awesome_.” You spoke angrily and dry.

“It wasn’t you though, you didn’t even know!” Dylan tried to defend.

“I know that.” You scowled.

Dylan sighed and flopped to the side, next to you on the bed. He scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “I told her you had nothing to do with it, but I guess she just didn’t believe me.” He finally built up the courage to look at you, arms still crossed over your chest and face still set in a scowl, staring at the open door to his bathroom, across the room. Dylan reached out, trepidatiously, and gently nudged his fingers into your hipbone. You didn’t flinch away, but you didn’t look at him either. “ _Y/n_.” He spoke low and steady.

You didn’t move your head, but you let your eyes drop down to look at him.

“I’m sorry. You aren’t ruining my career, you know you aren’t. I shouldn’t have blown off work events, but I fucking hate going to these parties anyway and I always rather be with you than go to them.” His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, and his thumb brushed against the skin underneath.

You shook your head and remained silent.

Dylan sat back up and moved closer again. He gently, but firmly, letting his presence be felt, brushed his hand against the side of your neck. He was relieved when he saw you close your eyes, your expression softening lightly. “Y/n, look at me.” You kept your eyes closed. “ _Please_.” Dylan was not afraid to beg.

You let your eyes flutter open and drift to his face, closer than it was before. Your hands unclenched from around your biceps and folded neatly into your lap. It was hard staying angry with him when he grew gentle and repentant. You let his fingers tuck under your chin to guide your gaze back up to his chocolate brown eyes, watching intently.

“I’m really sorry.” He began, then paused, trying to find the right words to say to convey what he was thinking. “For one, I’m gonna tell Mary that she needs to be nicer to you. She just does.” You opened your mouth to protest. You didn’t want her to like you out of obligation. Dylan raised his free hand up, halting you from arguing. “Let me finish, okay?” You sighed, noisily, through your nose, but remained quiet. “You are so fucking important to me, Y/n.” Dylan leaned in a little more, and cupped your cheek a little harder. “My career is important too, but I love you and I don’t get why everyone seems to think it has to be one or the other.”

“Because you’re famous and I’m not.” You finally interjected.

Dylan furrowed his brow, frustrated with that answer. “Why the fuck should that matter though? Tons of famous people are with people who aren’t a part of the industry.”

You pulled your chin away from his hand and looked at the floor beside the bed, avoiding looking at him. “Because,” You began, before shrugging. “shit like tonight. You have this party to go to and you can’t bring me because I will not be able to help you in networking with industry people or whatever.” You waved a hand in a circle, in your lap, trying to show some sign of insouciance. “And it’s not that I necessarily even want to go to these things with you,” You added, finally looking up at him, trying to gauge his reaction to the last comment. “but I don’t know, Dyl.” You sighed, frustrated, and slunk back against the pillows. Dylan chased you. “ _You_  are important to  _me_. Your  _career_  is important to  _you_  and your  _success_  is important to  _everyone_  supporting you and I just don’t want to fuck anything up.”

“You aren’t and you won’t.” Dylan leaned against your side, following you down to a horizontal position on the bed. He cupped his hand against the place where your neck met your shoulder and he brushed his thumb against your soft skin.

You took a deep breath in and then turned onto your side, burying your face into the crook of Dylan’s neck. He wrapped his arms around you and breathed in the familiar and comforting vanilla scent of your perfume. It grounded him, brought him back from the fight that almost was. You remained silent, but Dylan soaked in the feeling of your warm breath seeping through his shirt and dancing across his chest.

“I love you.” He whispered against your temple.

You hummed and curled your fingers into the cotton shirt hanging off his stomach. “I love you too.” You murmured.

“Please don’t worry about this stuff. Everything is okay, I promise. Honestly, I promise.” He whispered, rubbing his cheek against your hair.

You nodded, and tucked yourself in tighter against his body.

A few minutes passed, silently; the two of you just trying to settle back into each other, trying to shake off the post-fight anxieties that plagued you both. Dylan nuzzled his nose into your hair and pressed wet, warm kisses into your hairline. You rocked your body against his, through the blankets.

“Do you want to come with me tonight? I don’t really care if I’m not supposed to bring you.” He asked, quietly, still running his fingers up and down your back.

You snickered. “Not really. I mean, you complain about these events like they are the worst thing ever.”

Dylan gasped playfully. “Yeah, but I’ll be there, so how bad could they possibly be?”

You rolled your eyes when you looked up and Dylan smirked gently. “I don’t know, D, how bad could it possibly be?”

Dylan smirked a little more. “Pretty bad..”

You shook your head. “Yeah, I don’t want to go.”

Dylan groaned, overdramatic and theatrical, wanting to make damn sure that his displeasure was known. “You don’t love me enough.”

“True.” You replied, casually.

Dylan glared, but then dipped his head back in for a quick kiss on your mouth. “Not even a little, right?”

“Not at all.” You added, before leaning up to chase his lips.

“Are you going to stay here and hang out or can I come over to your place and sleep there tonight?” Dylan asked, when he finally broke away from the kiss.

You shrugged. “I’ll do whatever. I kind of wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to sleep with you, so I might just go home and watch a movie or Netflix or something, but you’ll come over after your thing is over?”

Dylan nodded with a smile. “I promise, I won’t be too late tonight. Nothing sounds better than laying in bed with you and watching crappy tv until we fall asleep.” Dylan admitted.

You smiled and nodded. “But don’t rush.”

He groaned, but ended it with a laugh. “Fuck,  _okay_ , okay. I got it, work is important.” He rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind the gesture; not when the corners of his mouth were turned up.

You reached up and stroked the hair on his cheek, tracing the parts that were patchy. “But not too late.”

Dylan snickered some more, his smile contagious. It spread to your lips. He leaned down to kiss at it. “You make me so happy.” He murmured.

You replied with kisses and the removal of clothes and the allowance of him slipping inside of you.

He made you so happy too.

* * *

* * *

“Shit, shit, fuck. Fuck no. Fuck that.  _God_ , I fucking  _hate_  the Astros.” You mumbled towards the television. 

Dylan’s living room was filled to the brim with his friends, your friends, and the both of your siblings. Everyone had found a cushion on the couch or a pillow on the floor or a place in a chair, all just to watch the final game in the World Series between the Houston Astros and the Los Angeles Dodgers. Dylan had flown to Los Angeles several days prior to go to one of the games with a couple of his California friends. He was especially invested because of the event.

That’s why, when his phone rang and he began shushing everyone and searching the couch for the remote to mute the television with, everyone knew what the call was.

Dylan answered. “Hey, Mare.”

The room was silent. The stares were fixed. The tension was palpable.

“ _Holy_.  _Shit_.” Dylan annunciated each word. You could see the edges of his lips beginning to curve up, before he covered his mouth with his hand.

You surged forward slightly, his eyes completely glued to yours, and you bit your lip, trying to fight back the grin. You were pretty certain, by the look on his face, that it was good news, but you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself.

Dylan moved his hand away from his mouth, a full blown, toothy grin settled on his face. He grabbed and squeezed your hand. You smiled in return. “So, I got the part?”

Small squeals sounded throughout the room.

“Holy fuck.” Dylan chuckled. “ _I got the part_.”

The room erupted with cheers and shouts and congratulations. Dylan pulled you forward for a kiss.

He laughed when your lips broke away from his. “I’m home with Y/n, Julia and a bunch of friends, watching the World Series.” He told Mary, through his phone, speaking loud to be heard over the celebration happening in his living room. He was still staring at you, sitting right next to him, smiling.

Until his face began to turn slightly.  You furrowed your brow and leaned forward even more. It didn’t sound like anyone had noticed the smile fade from his face, other than you. The celebration raged on behind you with the sound of people agreeing to take shots.

“What kind of stipulations?” Dylan asked, and your heart sunk. His hand brushed across your cheek and you pressed small kisses into his palm, keeping it in place on your face, with your own hand.

Dylan sighed. “Yeah, I’ll call you in the morning and we can talk about it then.” He paused. “But the part is mine if I want it, right?” He clarified, his brow unfurrowing just slightly. He seemed to relax because of whatever it was that Mary had said on the other end of the call. “And when do they need to know by?” He nodded for a couple moments. “Okay, okay. Fuck, Mary. Thank you. This is amazing.”

His smile, softer and slower than before, but just as sincere, crept back onto his face. He pulled you closer. “Alright, I’ll call you tomorrow, Mare. Thank you again.” He paused. “Yeah, you too. Night.”

He hung up the call and dropped his phone to his side. He pulled you into his lap and pressed a long kiss to your lips. It was electric and intense. You knew he was feeling everything right then. He took a deep exhale, after breaking away, and leaned back into the couch, the tension releasing from his body. He held you tight against his chest.

“ _I got the fucking part_. I’m gonna be in a movie with Luca Guadagnino as the director. Holy fuck.” He murmured, if only to hear the words said out loud, making them real.

“You got the fucking part, baby.” You whispered back.

Dylan smiled and let out a soft chortle. He kissed you more lightly, more fleeting. It made your heart flutter.

You didn’t ask about the ’ _stipulations_ ’ because he didn’t bring it up, assuming this wasn’t the time or place to speculate. 

It was the time and place for celebratory shots. 

But you wondered what ’ _stipulations_ ’ meant nonetheless.

* * *

* * *

A little less than two weeks had gone by and Dylan still hadn’t told anyone what the  _stipulations_  were that Mary had mentioned in the initial phone call. He knew what they were though. He was surprised that you hadn’t asked yet. He knew you were curious. He appreciated that you gave him room to think. 

He hadn’t accepted the part yet, he hadn’t rejected it either.

It was the role of a lifetime, and there could be others just as good or even better, and he could even possibly get them, but this was something he wanted so veraciously, so desperately, that he couldn’t help but have to actually think about his options.

He glanced behind him, checking to make sure that the door to his balcony was definitely closed behind Julia, as she stepped back out into the cool November air, now armed with one of his oversized sweatshirts. He took a long pull from his cigarette and felt his muscles loosen as the smoke seeped into his lungs.

He’d gotten a phone call earlier in the morning and it broke him in two ways:  _one_ , it made him so anxious that he pulled the spare, ’ _for special occasions_ ’ pack of cigarettes he kept hidden in his living room, and immediately lit up, and  _two_ , he decided that he finally needed to let someone else in on what was going on with him. 

He called his sister, needing to talk to someone who had no stakes to claim, just someone who wanted the best for him and would listen to what he had to say; when that person wasn’t you, that person was pretty much always Julia.

He explained the situation to her, and she simply nodded and hummed in reply until he was finished. Then she spoke.

“So why does the studio want this again? Isn’t it kind of gimmicky?” Julia asked, tugging at the tops of her socks, making sure they covered her ankles.

Dylan shrugged and took another pull from his cigarette. “I guess Luca wants genuine chemistry and the studio wants the publicity that it will inevitably bring. Any thing that can be seen as free advertising in an indie film is considered to be excellent advertising.”

“Can you fake it?” Julia asked, letting the longer sleeves of Dylan’s hoodie cover her hands, which she then used to cover her nose and mouth, in an attempt to filter out the noxious second hand smoke emanating from her younger brother.

He raised his eyebrows, in a more subtle shrug. Julia thought he looked concernedly relaxed for a man in such a legitimate predicament. “I don’t know.  _Maybe_?” Dylan took another long drag. His hands shook as he wandered off in his thoughts about her. “I want to say we could do it but when she called and said that they broke up and that I should take the role and that it was fate wanting us to get back together, it made me reconsider whether or not we could just fake it.”

“She cheated on you.” Julia reminded Dylan.

He deadpanned at her. As if he had forgotten. “ _I know_.”

“And you love Y/n.” Julia added.

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Thanks for reminding me, as if I had forgotten.” He sent an unamused gaze his sister’s way. “Yes, I love Y/n  _so much_ , and I don’t want to fuck it up. That’s why, you know -” Dylan trailed off. “She’s the only thing that has kept me from saying ’ _fuck it_ ’ and just accepting the role and all the bullshit that will come with it.”

Julia nodded. “You said she still doesn’t know yet, right?”

“Y/n?” Dylan asked. Julia nodded. “Yeah, no, I haven’t told her yet. I want to hear her opinion but I wanted a little more clarity about what I maybe could do to avoid this all first.”

“You should tell her soon, before she finds out from someone else.” Julia urged.

Dylan huffed. He already knew all this.

“We shouldn’t even be talking about this. Y/n could wake up from her nap at any time, come out here and hear all of this.”

“ _And_  see you smoking.” Julia added, a judging eyebrow raised, as she stared at her brother with disapproval.

Dylan sighed heavily, through his nose, an annoyed grimace contorting his face, as he let his sister’s objection to his nasty, reoccurring habit wash over him. He stared at the smoldering end of his cigarette, examining the way it burned through the paper and tobacco, before, with a huff, he dropped it in his can of soda. He heard the soft sizzle reverberate against the aluminum, and stared at the logo for a minute, zoning out from how Julia had continued the conversation. He knew that she wasn’t the one he had to talk to about all of this. He inhaled deep, suddenly catching a strong aroma coming off of his shirt, and scrunched up his nose.

“I need to take a shower before she wakes up and smells this bullshit. She’d fucking kill me.” Dylan suddenly cut Julia off with his verbalized thought process.

“ _Okay_ , I guess we’re done with that conversation.” She widened her eyes and cocked her head back, in slight irritation.

“Sorry,” Dylan muttered, as he rubbed his hand up and down his face, feeling the grease and oil from his skin coming off on his palm. “I just, I need to figure out what I’m going to do and what I’m going to tell Y/n.”

Julia nodded, solemnly. “Alright, I’m gonna go then.”

Dylan tried to force a smile, but it ended up with his lips pursed, then rolled back towards his mouth, as he got up from his lounge chair. “Yeah,  _okay_ …” He turned to open the glass french doors, that led to his balcony, when he realized that one was already ajar. He turned around to look at his sister, now standing directly behind him, waiting for him to go inside, and the panic began to flare. “Did you leave this open when you came out here after getting my sweatshirt?”

Julia scrunched her nose and frowned, wrinkles burrowing into her forehead. “No, I made sure to close it. I didn’t want the smoke going into the apartment.”

“ _Fuck_.” Dylan snapped, firmly. The panic rose. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He repeated, as he quickly crossed his apartment, heading towards his bedroom. He pressed his left hand against the wood grain of the door, as his right hand quietly, carefully, and slowly turned the knob. He hoped to whatever higher being was out there, that you were still curled up in a sleepy puddle, under his sheets, passed out.

You weren’t.

“ _Shit_.”

Dylan’s heart rate instantly skyrocketed. He could hear blood rushing in his ears, and could feel the thumping emanating from his chest, in the tips of his long fingers. Panic caused red-hot heat to rise to the tops of his ears, while his stomach churned and gurgled. He immediately clocked the rumpled sheets, all tossed to one side of the bed. He looked around for any sign of you: laptop, phone, even chapstick. He found nothing. Dylan walked quickly towards the bathroom, connected to his bedroom, and popped his head inside the door. You weren’t in there either.

His feet moved faster now, a sense of urgency and alarm taking over his movements, as he jogged back into the living room, where Julia was putting her shoes on. “What’s wrong?” She asked, her head popping up, as soon as she heard his heavy footfalls.

Dylan didn’t answer. He surveyed the room again, now looking for your coat, that was draped over the back of the stool by his kitchen counter, your backpack, that was propped up against the leg of his coffee table, your shoes, that were discarded by the door when you came in.

 _Nothing_.

You had removed all traces of yourself, quietly and efficiently.

He glanced behind him, back at the door to his balcony; finally closed now, and began to piece it together.

“Where’s Y/n?” Julia was on her feet now, recognizing that something was very much not right with how her brother was behaving.

The heat had spread to his forearms now and down to his knees. He could feel it washing over him in waves. It made him want to step back out onto the porch, into the nippy November air, simply to cool down.

 _And maybe to have another cigarette_.

He looked back at his older sister, fear set into every curve and slope of his face. “Julia, are you positive that you did not leave that door open? You heard it click?”

“Yes.” Julia paused for a minute, thinking back, before confirming again. “Yeah, I’m certain it was closed. What’s going on? Where’s Y/n?” She repeated her question from earlier.

“She’s gone. I don’t….” Dylan paused, moving his hand up the length of his throat, towards the stubble on his chin; the sheer terror of the possible, probable reality sinking in. “I think she heard the conversation.”

Dylan gave up trying to call you. 

You couldn’t have left that long ago. You were probably back at your apartment already. He debated between hopping on the F, and taking it to your stop, or just hailing a cab and driving to Kew Gardens. He decided against looking like a crazy person, muttering to himself, on the subway, where people had cellphones with cameras at the ready, waiting to see a celebrity having a meltdown, in order to post it on the internet. 

He hailed a cab instead, regardless of the fact that the hour was drawing nearer and nearer to rush hour, and the roads would be a mess. The ride to Queens, from downtown Manhattan, would give him the opportunity to work out what he was going to say to you; would give him time to come up with counterpoints and apologies to what your potential arguments could be.

He tried calling and texting you a few times on the way over. He checked Twitter and Instagram, in some desperate, but foolish, attempt to see if you had maybe posted about where you had gone or if you were pissed at your boyfriend or if..  _anything_. 

Honestly, he was desperate at this point.

Fifty-eight minutes later, Dylan was paying the taxi driver, and rushing to get out of the backseat. He texted you again, informing you that he was downstairs in your lobby, and begging you to let him up. There was, as before, no reply. He inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled shakily through his mouth, as he stared down your number on the intercom board.

’ **3E** ’.

Dylan pushed down on the cold, metal button and heard the same obnoxiously loud ringing noise that you were hearing in your apartment. His heart beat too hard against his chest and he could feel the sweat making the skin under his arm stick together uncomfortably. 

He was terrified.

“ _Hello_?” It wasn’t your voice. It was Maddie’s, distinct in the timbre and inflection. Similar, in the way that most siblings sound sort of the same, but distinctly  _not_  you.

“Maddie, it’s Dylan, can you let me up?”

“ _Oh, yeah, sure_.” Her sentence was cut off by the buzzing noise, which indicated that someone was unlocking the lobby door from their apartment. He raced towards the heavy glass door and opened it, before he took off running up the three flights of stairs, landing at your front door, panting and clutching at his stomach. Maddie was waiting in the half opened door, a worried expression on her face. “Hey, you okay?”

Dylan breathed heavily, trying to get good oxygen flow once more, as he stared at your sister. “Is Y/n here?”

Maddie contorted her face in confusion. “ _No_? Come inside though, and I’ll get you some water.” Dylan smiled halfheartedly at the woman in front of him and followed her inside. “Are you okay? I thought Y/n was at your apartment for the rest of the day. She told me not to expect her back for dinner.”

Suddenly, Dylan realized that as soon as Maddie said that you weren’t there, he should’ve left. He had no idea how to explain what he wasn’t even sure had happened to your sister. He chose to gulp down the water that she had handed him, as a means to stall and gather his thoughts. 

“ _Um_ ,” He wiped the droplets from his lips, with the back of his hand, and placed the cup in the sink, before turning back to Maddie. “we sort of had a fight, I guess. I don’t really know, but I’m pretty sure she’s mad at me, and she kind of bolted from my place,  _and_ …” Dylan didn’t really want to say anymore, especially considering the look of bewildered pity painted across your sister’s face. “Would it be okay if I waited in Y/n’s room for her?”

Maddie looked around the apartment, for what, Dylan didn’t know, before she answered. “Uh…  _yeah_ , that’s fine.” She searched the room they were standing in once again. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Dylan forced a soft smile and nodded once. “Thanks." 

He didn’t really wait for a reply, before he walked straight into your bedroom, and closed the door behind him. He stood in silence amongst your things for a few minutes, zoned out, staring at a wrinkle in the edge of your comforter. After a short while, he came to and moved to sit on the end of your mattress. He buried his face into his palms, and dug his elbows into his knees, running his fingers back and forth through his long, messy hair, every few minutes, unable to wipe away the feeling of sheer misery that had seeped into his bones.

After something close to twenty minutes of Dylan being in your room, he heard a soft knock on the door, his head shooting up, only to see Maddie, trepidatiously, stepping through. "Hey,  _um_ , I texted Y/n to see where she was, and she said she wasn’t coming back tonight…” Maddie paused to literally grimace, as if someone had pinched her arm really hard. “ _And that you should go home._ ” She mumbled out the awkward part of her report.

Dylan felt his heart ache. “Did she say where she was?” Maddie nodded. “But not to tell me?”

Maddie nodded less firmly this time. “I’m sorry, I just don’t want her to be  _pis_ -”

Dylan raised his hand in the air and shook it back and forth, stopping Maddie from saying anything more. “I don’t want her to be pissed at you either. I’m sorry to  _have_ -” He rubbed his hand against his nose and then got up from the foot of the bed. “I’m just going to go. I’m so sorry I just popped up and barged in.” He could barely look your sister in the eye, as he spoke.

Maddie followed Dylan to the front door of the apartment. “It’s fine, Dylan, don’t worry about it.” She said, as she gave him a soft, reassuring pat on the arm. “Give her a night to cool off, and come back tomorrow. She’ll have to come home for clothes, and yeah, I don’t know, just give her a little. Knowing how much she loves you, she’ll probably call you back before the night is over anyway.”

Dylan tried to hold on to the comforting sound of someone else saying how much you loved him. It would have to do for now. “If you see her,” Dylan paused for barely a moment. “if she comes home tonight… Can you ask her to call me?” He paused once more. “And tell her I love her.”

Maddie couldn’t help but smile at Dylan’s vulnerability. She nodded. “You got it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Night, Maddie.”

“Get home safe.” Maddie waved, as Dylan walked towards the stairwell.

* * *

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _I don’t know what to say. I wish you would come back and just talk to me. I love you so much, Y/f/n Y/L/N. I feel like such shit right now and I miss you and my apartment just feels so empty without you here. I’m sorry. I am so fucking sorry. I love you. Please call me. I don’t care what time it is. I’m leaving my phone on loud. I’m sorry. I know I fucked up, but please let me explain. You are my world. Honestly, my whole fucking world and I would do absolutely anything for you. Anything to make you happy. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/n._

Dylan reread, then typed up and retyped up, deleted completely and then typed up and deleted another text over and over, for an hour, before the yawning became an annoying indicator that his body was too emotionally fatigued to remain awake for much longer. He typed up one last message.

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Baby, I’m going to try to sleep now, but my phone is on, and if you want to talk to me, please call me. Don’t worry about waking me up. I don’t care. I just want to hear your voice. I love you more than you know and more than I’ve told you so far. I promise I’ll tell you how much next time I see you. I’ll call you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Y/n_.

* * *

Dylan was startled from his sleep by the ringing of his phone. Bleary eyed, he grabbed it from his nightstand, and blinked at your picture lighting up his screen. He answered the call, regardless of the fact that he was still half asleep, and his bedroom was just barely filled with morning light.

“Y/n?” He heard silence on the other line, so he checked to see if the call was still connected. It was. He spoke more gently this time. “Baby, talk to me. Please.”

A soft sniffle registered in his ear, and his chest tightened with guilt. “ _I’m at your front door._ ”

“Shit.” Dylan immediately thrashed around, to get the sheets off of his body. “I’ll be right there. Don’t leave.” He ran towards his front door, then hung up when he saw you lower the phone from your ear. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You stared down at the phone in your hand, not wanting to make eye contact with Dylan.

“Come in?” He had never felt more awkward in his life, and that was really saying something. You simply nodded and shuffled, quietly, passed him.

An uncomfortable, deafening silence fell over the room, as soon as Dylan closed the door. He finally caught the time on the clock on the front of his cable box, below his wall-mounted, flat-screen television. It read forty minutes past eight. Somehow the early nature of your arrival made him more uneasy than the unexpected aspect of it. 

You were anything but a morning person, so what did the fact that you showed up to his apartment before nine in the morning, on a Sunday, mean? 

Dylan glanced over at you, slowly and quietly taking off your coat and leaving it on the back of the arm chair in his living room. When you turned, he saw your face, fully, for the first time since you came in. Your eyes were puffy and the circles underneath them were dark. He couldn’t tell if it was because you had been crying, you hadn’t slept, or worse,  _both_. The thought forced the pit in his stomach up into his throat. 

Nothing about this felt good, and he was desperately trying to keep himself from running towards the worst case scenario, but it was difficult not to. 

He felt certain that he knew what was about to happen.

He was paralyzed, unable to ask anything of substance. “Do you want some coffee?”

“No, thank you.” You answered, quietly.

Dylan nodded, while rubbing his hand over his bicep; anxiety absolutely dripping from each new movement of his body. “ _Okay_.. Do you want to sit?” He barely gestured towards the couch, directly behind you.

“Sure.” You sat immediately, at the end of the couch, tucking your knees up, but letting your feet hang off the edge still;  _you hadn’t yet taken your shoes off_. 

That fact caused Dylan’s anxiety to skyrocket.

He walked around the coffee table that separated the two of you and sat towards the middle of the large, L-shaped couch; close to you, but not touching, like he wanted to be. “ _Um_ …” He had no idea where to start. “where’d you go yesterday?”

You picked up a pillow, as soon as Dylan sat down, hugging it to your chest, and using it as a physical barrier between the two of you. Your body was turned towards him though, and Dylan tried to take that as a positive sign. “My grandma’s.”

“ _Ah_.” He nodded once and rolled his hands over one another, anxiously. 

You knew he would chase after you, so you didn’t go to the first place he would go. You were officially avoiding him. 

 _Fuck_. 

Dylan felt sick to his stomach. “What- um,  _why_ ….” Dylan rubbed at his face, pulling some of the crusty sleep from the corner of his left eye, incapable of finding the right words to say; the right question to ask. “I don’t know  _what_ -”

“You talked to Britt yesterday?” Your voice came out sharp and concise, like the edge of a knife.  _It cut him_.

If Dylan wasn’t sitting, he would’ve fell backwards.  _How much **had** you actually heard?_ 

 **Fuck**. 

“Yes. How’d you know?” That maybe wasn’t the right question to ask, but his morbid curiosity took over.

Your lip snarled up slightly in the corner, before you brought your face back to the most neutral expression you could muster. “You were smoking.”

“ _Oh_.”

“You said that she triggers your smoking, and I saw you smoking yesterday, so I assumed that you spoke to her.”

Dylan nodded, a tiny flicker of hope trying to fight its way into his chest over the fact that maybe you were just pissed about the smoking. Disappearing for sixteen hours was a little bit of a dramatic reaction to that, but just maybe that was it. He could deal with that. 

“She called. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I had a pack in one of my drawers in the living room, and I  _just_ … it’s a hard habit to kick entirely. I should get more of the gum or something. Try that when I have a craving or am feeling anxious.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t seem pleased with this answer, and you stared at the pattern on his dark green, plaid pajama pants.

“I’m sorry, baby. I know it’s bad for me. I know you hate it and I know I said I wouldn’t do it again. I  _just_ -”

You couldn’t keep your calm anymore; not when he thought that the smoking was what was really bothering you. “ **I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT THE SMOKING, DYLAN. YOU CLEARLY DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT WHETHER OR NOT YOU’RE PUTTING THAT SHIT INTO YOUR BODY AND WHETHER OR NOT I WOULD LIKE TO KEEP YOU AROUND AND HEALTHY.** ” You snapped, and Dylan’s eyes widened. 

He watched as you got up, standing in your anger; unable to stay stagnant and still any longer. You walked towards the middle of his living room, before you turned to face him, sitting on the couch, stunned. You put your index finger up in front of you, as you collected yourself. 

“I mean,” You paused to take a calming breath, not enjoying the taste of angry words on your tongue, especially directed towards him. “I  _do_  care about the smoking. I don’t quite get how you don’t either. I know you had a similar childhood to mine, and I know that they brought the healthy lung and the smokers lung into your classroom in elementary school, and honestly, even if they didn’t, we grew up being told what would happen, in no uncertain terms, if we smoked. Not to mention, you know what happened to my grandpa, and you know how much that shit fucked me up… You aren’t stupid, so I really  _don’t_   _understand_  how you continue putting that shit into your body,” You shrugged. “ _but that is completely besides the point._ ”

Dylan wanted to ask what the point was, but he knew that anything that came out of his mouth in that moment would sound defensive and snarky, and he was not trying to push you more towards breaking up with him; regardless of the fact that he felt like that was where this conversation was headed anyway. 

He had a very bad feeling about all of this. 

He remained silent, watching you seething, standing in front of him. You’d never looked larger or more intimidating in all the time he knew you. It was both impressive and terrifying;  _a force to be reckoned with_.

Except, he didn’t mean to reckon with it.

“Where’d you get the cigarettes?”

Dylan glanced away from you. “They were in one of the drawers in the chest by the TV. I don’t know why I picked them up.”

You scowled at his answer. “The point is,” You answered his question for him. “you had a pack of cigarettes, new or old, it really doesn’t fucking matter, hidden away in a drawer in your  _brand new apartment_ , after you swore that you had quit. I don’t think people who really quit buy packs of cigarettes ’ _just in case_ ’.” You paused for a minute, letting your angry, tense muscles relax slightly. “You lied to me.”

He sunk his head in shame. “I know.”

“Is there anything else you want to tell me about?”

You tilted your head to the side, as if leaning to the left would let you see the look on his face, regardless of the fact that his head was buried in his hands. The anger was still evident on your face and in your voice, but you had reigned yourself in, regained your control. 

You had been told by your ex-boyfriend from Boston College that he would’ve rather you yell and hit and scream and spit at him, when the two of you fought, because when you went quiet and controlled and quick, it was like your words and the coldness in your voice cut him surgically, strategically, and you just stood over him as he bled out with each new sentence.

Dylan was starting to understand that feeling, and it was fucking awful.

He lifted his head to look at you, fear written clearly across his face. “Y/n, please just sit and let..  _can you just tell me what happened yesterday_?” He couldn’t skirt around what he was quite certain had happened any longer. He knew you knew more than you were saying. 

He was being trapped.

You looked as if you were about to argue with his request for you to sit, but after a moment, your face untwisted from anger, and went neutral. You sat in the arm chair, that your coat half covered, and you remained quiet for a moment, before you finally looked at him again. A sadness had washed over you suddenly, and all Dylan wanted was to be touching you or holding you, making you feel better. 

He remained where he was. 

His fear of seeing you recoil from him kept him in place, on the couch.

“Yesterday, I woke up from my nap, and you weren’t in bed with me anymore, so I got up to go look for you, and I finally saw you and Julia on the balcony together, so I went out to join the two of you, and opened the door, and neither of you noticed, and I heard you say Britt’s name, and I froze. I realized that I had intruded on a conversation that I was maybe not supposed to be hearing.”

“ _Y/n_ …” Dylan leaned forward slightly, but your voice kept him from approaching any more.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I swear, I wasn’t. It was like I couldn’t fucking move; I couldn’t  _stop_  listening….” You looked back at your coat, as you sat somewhat sideways in the seat, picking stray hairs and lint off the back of your coat. “ _For that_ , I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry about anything.” Dylan spoke softly, and inched forward on the couch, towards you.

You nodded once, and stared at the distance between your persons, before continuing. “I’m not sure how much I missed of your conversation, but what I heard was enough. So, let me know if I misunderstood any of this: Britt and KJ broke up, you both got the lead roles in the movie, but the catch is that you are not only each other’s love interest, but also for publicity purposes, Luca wanted a real life couple, and you two would have to do press and premieres together as a couple for months and months, and  _honestly_ , just saying all this out loud for the first time, I feel like I’m going to be sick…  _Holy fuck_.”

Suddenly, your hand was covering your mouth, and your feet were scrambling across the hardwood floors of Dylan’s apartment, rapidly. You barely got the lid and seat up, before you were retching, then finally, vomiting into the toilet bowl. Your hands shook against the cold porcelain and the smell reached your nostrils quickly, and  _more came_.

“Oh shit.” You heard Dylan mutter behind you, before you felt his presence disappear again. 

 _Great_. Your boyfriend not only was about to leave you for his ex, but he couldn’t even be there for you while you puked your guts out.  _You really picked a winner_.

 "Oh god, baby, it’s okay, just let it out.“ He was back,  _and_ …  _ow_ … ” _Sorry_ … I’ve never tried to tie a girl’s hair up before…. sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to pull.“ Dylan muttered, as he pulled his fingers out from the hair tie that he had on his dresser, that you had left at his apartment a few days prior.

You wanted to sink into the familiarity of his sweetness, kicking yourself for doubting him, but before you knew it, more bile was coming up from the pits of your stomach. Dylan sat behind you, legs spread out next to the side of the bowl, and behind your back, as he rubbed circles under your shirt. 

Your skin was clammy and cold and his warm touch sent visible shivers through your body. He leaned his forehead against your shoulder, and pressed a few soft kisses onto your upper back. He sat with you, in silence, comforting you, as you emptied out the remainder of your stomach.

Once it had subsided, you rested your cheek against your forearm, still hugging the rim of his toilet bowl. Dylan finally removed his face from the back of your shirt and pushed the hair, sticking with sweat, from your forehead and cheek, then got up, grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the faucet of his sink. 

"Come here.” He said, as he sat back down on the floor. You sat up slowly, and Dylan began wiping at your mouth and chin. He folded the dirty part in half, and then ran the cold cloth over your forehead. He finally tossed it back towards the sink, and pulled you towards him, letting you sink against his chest, as he held your shivering body. “You okay?” You nodded, softly. “Will you be okay if I carry you to the bed?” You nodded again, and couldn’t help the almost silent whine that escaped from your lips when he let go of you and stood.

He smiled softly, as he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, and picked you up off the floor. Your head fell against his strong shoulder, as Dylan carried you into his bedroom, finally laying you on the mattress. Your shoes quickly came off, and he pulled the covers out from under you, before tucking you into them. 

You used to feel safe there, in his bed, but suddenly, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were  _trapped_. You watched him step back in the room with a can of gingerale and an oversized bowl, in case you were still feeling sick. He placed both on the nightstand closest, then walked around the other side and crawled under the covers with you.

“You okay?” He asked again, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead to feel your temperature.

You nodded, and leaned further into him; comforted by his touch. “I think so.”

Dylan’s lips curved up at the ends slightly and he brushed the hair out of your face. “ _You pregnant_?”

Your expression went from soft relief, to hard annoyance, as you narrowed your eyes at his grin. “No,  _asshole_.” You paused, then turned away from him slightly. “I just don’t…  _I don’t like confrontation_.”

“ _Oh_.” The reality of the fight not being over set back in. “I.. don’t really like confrontation either.”

“ _Yeah_ …” You slowly repositioned yourself back against the pillows, in a more upright position. You looked back down at Dylan, clutching at the sheets that had gone limp in between your distant bodies. You spoke again, regardless of the fact that he was not looking at you, but down at the way the fabric moved between his fingers. “ _But sometimes it’s necessary._ ”

“ _Right_ ….” Dylan nodded, still unable to meet your gaze, but he felt it burning holes into his skin. Dread washed back over him, like a tidal wave.

“What I said before, that was all true, right?”

Dylan worked up the courage to sit up straighter and look at you. He nodded. “Yeah, it was pretty much accurate.”

“Tell me what happened.”

He sighed, but did as you asked. Dylan’s hands nervously fidgeted in his lap, his nails tearing at his cuticles, while he spoke. “Mary called a few days ago while we were in bed, right?” You nodded. “She told me what the stipulations were.”

“I knew all that. I was literally next to you when that happened.” You spoke, a little more curt than you meant to be. “I don’t know what the stipulations were though.”

Dylan exhaled heavily. “ _Right_.. Well, Britt called before you came back over, while you were out with Sarah and Heather and Julia that night, and it turns out that she got the part opposite of mine, in the movie.” Dylan paused, finding that the next words tasted too sour on his tongue. He pushed through. He said he would tell you the truth. “She’s playing my character’s love interest.”

You remained silent, but your stare was a nightmarish twist of undecipherable emotions. 

Dylan hated this.

Then he admitted something, too caught up in his story to realize that he probably should’ve kept it to himself, before he realized what the implications could be. “She told me at the ‘ _American Assassin’_ premiere party that she was auditioning for the role, but I never saw her getting it, and frankly,” Dylan rolled his eyes at himself. “I didn’t see myself getting the role either.”

“But you both did.” You finally spoke, quiet and clinical. The return of your lack of emotions struck an uneasy chord in Dylan’s chest.

He nodded once. “ _Yeah_. Um, Britt was trying to sell it all to me, about how amazing this could be for our careers, about how the buzz around the film is already that it could be Oscar worthy and that this could truly be my big break.”

“Do you think that’s all true?” You asked, still low and detached.

Dylan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe.” You knew that he was underselling it. The  _‘I don’t know. Maybe._ ’ meant ’ _yes_ ’.“

You simply hummed in acknowledgement that you heard what he said. Then you went back to staring.

Dylan knew it was his turn to keep talking. "Then Britt mentioned something about the stipulations, and her and KJ breaking up, so I thought Britt was just trying to get back together with me and I kind of shut her down. I hung up and, I don’t know, like, ten minutes later, you came home.”

You continued silently staring.

Dylan felt sick. 

He didn’t want to talk about this. 

He didn’t want to tell you any of this. 

He wanted to live in denial of where he knew this conversation was headed. 

A huge fight. He was tensing for it. There was no way he’d truly be ready though.

He sighed, his breath coming out uneven and unsure. “Mary told me that part of the reason that Britt and I got the parts was because the producers of the movie, and Luca, wanted a real life couple to be the couple in the movie. Not only would the chemistry be better but it would be a good marketing ploy when it came time to promote the film and shop it at the festivals and for the consideration of the award shows.”

Your face went white and you felt whatever bile was left in your stomach begin to creep its way back up your throat.

Dylan was quick to continue. “I told Mary that that was ridiculous, and that there was no way that the studio didn’t know that Britt and I were broken up and that I was dating you, but she said that they didn’t and that she reassured them that Britt and I were still together so that they didn’t pass us over to give it to like fucking Austin Butler and Vanessa Hudgens or some shit.”

You felt your mind remove itself from the conversation for a moment. You wandered off on the tangent of what the roles would be like if Austin and Vanessa played them. You cringed. You had rehearsed lines for the script with Dylan a couple dozen times, up to that point, and you were so enthralled with his stunning interpretation, that he  _was_  the character, to you, in your mind, at that point. You couldn’t see anyone else taking on that movie. 

It  _had_  to be Dylan. It was like he was made for the role.

Dylan was speaking again, and you blinked a few times before you focused back on the sound of his voice, laced with anxiety and desperation. His fingers tentatively brushed back and forth against your knuckles. “I asked Mary if there was any way that they would budge about the real life couple part because that just seemed absurd to me.”

Then you realized that Dylan hadn’t said anything to Mary about the onscreen couple part.  _That_  seemed absurd to you too, but apparently not to Dylan, at least not that you had heard him say. He was still talking. You were having a very hard time focusing. Your mind constantly trying to walk off in order to protect your feelings.

“Then, when she said no, I asked her if Britt and I could fake it, like, act like we were a couple at events at shit, but, like, obviously, I’d still be dating you-”

“And she’s not still dating KJ?” You interrupted, speaking for the first time in what felt like forever.

Dylan seemed startled by your voice. His eyes widened, then he attempted to school his expression to something more calm, less bewildered and frightened. He shook his head. “Britt told me they broke up for good.”

“ _Hm_.” You murmured quietly, dropping your gaze to focus on the stubble growing on his neck and chin. You couldn’t look at his pink lips, sweet upturned nose, bushy brows, wrinkled forehead or perfect whiskey colored eyes anymore.

You just couldn’t.

Dylan stammered. He didn’t know if he should continue or wait for you to say something else. When you remained silent, he felt compelled to fill the awkward void with noise. “What’s going through your head?”

You visibly swallowed, unwilling to open your mouth yet, for fear of what might come out. You shook your head. A few tense minutes passed and Dylan continued to slowly, rhythmically stroke the skin covering the back of your hand.

“ _Y/n_.” Dylan repeated your name, fear evident in his voice.

You finally connected your eyes with his, and it was all over. 

 _You had made up your mind_.

You pulled your fingers back towards your stomach and sat up,  _slowly_. You rubbed your hand over your mouth and stared down at a random point on his bedspread, needing to focus your attention somewhere. “I was really fucking upset yesterday.”

“I know.” Dylan interjected. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded once, still refusing eye contact. You saw his hand inch closer in your periphery, and the thought of him touching you hurt. He was only going to make this whole thing much harder than it had to be. You thought about what you wanted to say and rubbed at the bridge of your nose with your fingers, trying to stave off tears, trying to distract yourself.

“I heard most of what you had told Julia and then I saw you smoking and I  _just_ , instead of flipping out on you, I just sort of shut down. I grabbed my stuff and I walked out the door, and part of me so badly wanted you to realize I was gone and come after me, but the other, bigger part of me, was livid and hurt and just needed time to think.”

Now it was Dylan’s turn to be quiet. He thought about saying he was sorry again, or just saying okay, or saying anything at all.

But silence was what remained.

It was safest, he felt.

“I got to my grandma’s and we hung out for a little and I calmed down and I picked up my phone to call you back, but then I ended up on Google and I ended up googling news articles about the movie and,” You shrugged and leaned forward slightly. “ _this could make your career_. There’s already buzz that it’s you who got the lead role and people are so happy about it. Someone from the  _L.A. Times_ said that this would make you  _one of the greats_.”

Now, Dylan had nothing to say. He was completely at a loss for words. At a loss for anything, really. He was barely remembering how to breathe.

You cupped your hands over your mouth and dug your elbows into your thighs, rubbing circles on your jaw, with your thumbs. “It occurs to me that you asked Mary if you could fake being in a relationship with Britt, for publicity, and that you asked if the two of you had to be a couple off screen as well, but never wavered in your desire to take this role.”

“Y/n,  _I mean_ , I’ve obviously been thinking about  _not_ -”

You shook your head and spoke over him. “No.” You took a deep breath in, then glanced back behind you, at Dylan. “ _Don’t lie now_.”

“I’m not.” Dylan defended himself, the tiniest surge of anger reading across his face. He schooled his expression and emotions. He had little ground to be angry on.

You swallowed hard again. The saliva not going down easily over the lump in your throat. “You are,” Your hands were shaking now, and your whole body was cold. You knew you had made your mind up. You were about to make that clear. “ _so fucking important to me._  You are my whole world, Dylan.”

Dylan jumped in, mistaking the underlying reasoning for your sudden affection. He just wanted to tell you he loved you. “You’re my whole fucking world, too, Y/n. You are literally everything to me.  _I’m_.. I don’t want to lose you. I love you.” He inched forward, across the bed, towards you.

You remained still, letting him touch your knee and arm. You looked down at your shaking hands again. “I love you too.” You said, barely over a whisper. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone as much as I so completely love you. You are smart and funny and gorgeous and you get me and you like things I like and you’ve been there for me in some really shitty times lately and I am at a loss as to what my life would twist into without you in it.”

“So, don’t think that way.” Dylan became bold. He reached his hand up to your neck, weaving his fingers under your hair to caress the knob of your spine, just under the collar of your shirt.

You simply shook your head and squeezed your right thumb in your left hand. “ _Because_  I love you,  _because_  I want you to be happy and successful and  _because_  I don’t want you to resent me-”

“I would fucking  _never_.” Dylan cut you off, inching closer again. His shin rubbed against your knee, as he sat upright with you. He leaned his head over to the right, trying to get a better look at the expression on your face.

“You lied about the smoking. You really did.” You brought up something you almost forgot about.

Dylan let out a small huff. “I wanna kill myself for doing something so  _fucking_   _dumb_. It was not worth breaking your trust or getting you upset, and you have every fucking right to be upset, Y/n-”

You cut him off with a shaky wave of your hand. “ _I don’t even_ -” You paused. “I don’t even want to talk about that. I don’t know why I brought it back up.”

Dylan hesitated for a moment. “…. _Okay_ …”

“I love you.” You finally looked over at Dylan. 

 _He saw that you had tears streaming down your cheeks_.

The sinking feeling in the pit of Dylan’s stomach sunk lower. He’d been ignoring his intuition, his instincts, up until now, but this felt like something he couldn’t ignore or avoid. Something felt final in the way you told him you loved him. He stared, feeling the heat behind his own eyes.

“I think you should take it.”

“ _What_?”

“You’ve wanted to work with Luca for years. You’ve known me for months. You’ve been working towards a role like this for a decade. We haven’t even been together for a year.”

“ _Stop_.” Dylan whispered, the tears now beginning to fall from his own eyes.

You shook your head. “Britt has apologized. She’s reached out. She wants you still.”

“I don’t fucking care.” Dylan argued, without heat or much volume. He was simply responding to each new excuse.

“I do. You want this so badly, Dyl. I know you do.”

“ _I don’t_.”

“Don’t lie.” You repeated. You shook your head and connected your eyes with his broken honey brown ones. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the reason that you passed up on this opportunity, on this dream,  _and_ -” You stopped talking to cover your mouth with your hand. 

Your vision was blurry and you felt the pain searing through your chest. You couldn’t stop this at now. 

 _You had committed to the end_. “I love you entirely too much to fuck up your life, Dylan.” You croaked between gasps of breath.

“ _Please stop_.” Dylan begged between cries. His head rested against your shoulder and his fingers clutched at any piece of skin it could find.

You leaned your head the other way, physical pain searing through your body at the attempt to distance yourself from him. 

You were ripping a piece of yourself out.

 _It fucking killed_.

“I’ve never quitefit into this life with you.” You started.

“Shut up. Don’t fucking say that. That’s not fucking true.” Dylan countered.

You shook your head again. Your muscles stiffening against his hold. “No, no, it is. We just come from too different of worlds at this point, and I’d just be holding you back. Mary has been saying it the whole time..  _I don’t want this_.”

Dylan looked up at you, his shaky hand gripping your cheek and turning your face towards his. “Fuckin-  _You don’t mean that_ , Y/n. You don’t fucking mean that.  _Stop_ \- don- don’t push me away.”

You sunk into his touch, as your tears dripped down his wrist. “I just want what’s best for you.”

“And you think pushing me to get back together with the girl who cheated on me and broke my heart is what’s best for me?”

You forced yourself to nod. “Yeah.” Dylan shook his head, the tears getting caught in his beard. “This movie and giving that relationship a second chance are what’s best for you. Who knows if an opportunity like this will come around again?” You asked, rhetorically.

Dylan answered anyway. Desperate to argue every point you made. “It will. These sorts of things happen every day. I’ll get another script like this.”

You took a deep breath and tried to get the tears to stop. You picked your cheek up out of Dylan’s palm and sat up straighter. You had to begin mentally readying yourself to leave. “I don’t want to run that risk.”

“I do.” Dylan countered, almost petulant in his fighting.

“I can’t get past all the sneaking around and lying and deceit.” You knew you had to be more firm, even if, in time, you could get over it all. You knew why he kept it all to himself for as long as he did. You knew he would’ve told you eventually. You knew how much he loved you.

You were certain it wasn’t as much as you loved him.

You had to sacrifice yourself for him.

You had to.

Because you were in love with him.

 _But sometimes these things weren’t meant to work out_.

“Y/n…”

“No, this went on longer than it was meant to. You and I both know that, Dyl.” You shook your head and began climbing out of his bed. “This was meant to just be a summer fucking fling, or whatever. We all knew that. We were just fooling ourselves. I rushed you into this thing you weren’t ready for and now  _you’re_  willing to let it fuck up your future, but  _I’m_  not willing to let it do that.”

“What.. what are you-”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Dylan looked devastated by those five words. He looked like he had been punched in the gut. His breath went ragged and his face went red. Redder. 

“Don’t fucking say that.  _Please_.” He begged, climbing out of bed after you.

You had begun looking around his room for your shoes, unable to continue staring at the heartache you were causing. He followed you, but you slipped your shoes back onto your feet.

You listened to him pleading with you, as he followed you out into his living room, but the words just weren’t connecting in your head. Your lungs were slow and your chest physically hurt and your head was spinning. Nothing was working the way it should, in your body.

But you kept repeating to yourself the things that the critics had said in the articles you had read. “ _The Best Actor Winner Clinched Up From The First Day On Set_ ”.

It would be easier to cut it all off now. You two hadn’t gotten incredibly deep.

Well,  _you had_.

But, that was besides the point.

Or maybe that was the entire point.

You loved Dylan so unconditionally. So deeply. So ineffably and unequivocally.

His success and happiness and general well being were everything to you. Nothing else mattered.

To love someone unconditionally, unselfishly, unwaveringly, meant that sometimes  _their happiness mattered more_.

You pulled your coat off the chair and went to put it on, but a hand stopped you. Dylan had a vice grip on the body of your coat and he stared at you, tears streaking his cheeks. “ _Please_.”

“Let go.” You spoke as clearly as you could muster.

Dylan shook his head, but did let go. Instead, he gripped you by the elbows, pulling you closer. “ _Please_.” He implored you, as his hands moved from your arms to your cheeks to your shoulders to your back. He pressed his trembling lips against yours and you almost faltered.

_How could you ever leave this? How could you ever stop kissing him or loving him or wanting him or being completely captivated by him?_

You wouldn’t.

He’d always live in the pit of your chest.

But if you didn’t leave now, you never would.

You dug in.

“Stop, Dylan, stop.” You pressed your hands against his chest and separated your face from his. It was the most painful thing you had done yet. He looked like he’d been slapped. You felt like you had been violently gutted. “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done.”

“No.” He shook his head and pressed his thumb into your cheekbone. His eyes popped an even more vibrant brown against the red of his eyes.

“Yes.” You answered. 

You stepped back, and you had never seen him look more hurt in all of the months that you knew him. In order to make this work, you knew you had to take it one step further. You had to really hurt him. 

“Go back to Los Angeles, Dyl. Take the role. Get back together with Britt. Make the movie.. Smoke. I don’t fucking care what you do. I, I can’t do this anymore.  _I don’t love you enough to do this shit_.”

“You don’t mean that.” Dylan clutched his stomach with one hand, and pulled at his lips with his other. “I know how much you love me. I know you do. I fucked up, Y/n. Let me fix it.”

You shook your head and slipped your arms through the sleeves of your coat. “You can’t.” You whispered. “It’s done. I’m done.”

“ _Y/n_ -” He croaked.

Tears poured out of your eyes. You tried to wipe them away. It was a futile effort. “It’s over, Dylan. Just leave me alone.  _Don’t_..” You twisted your face. The salt had built up on your tongue and your eyes burned. You could barely still breathe, let alone speak. “Don’t try to contact me. I’m going to block you on everything.”

Dylan opened his mouth to speak a few times but only the sounds of heavy breaths came out.

“Just go back to her and forget about this.”

“Please don’t do this. You didn’t even let me-”

“There was nothing you could’ve said.” You cut him off. You had backed up slowly towards the door throughout the duration of your conversation. Now you felt the knob pressed against your back. You turned it and heard the door crack open. Dylan stood in the middle of his living room, the picture of a broken man. It broke you. “Goodbye, Dyl.”

“ _Y/n_.” Dylan finally mustered up the strength to say, but the door had already closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In all seriousness, before you give up on this story for being too sad or angsty or not how you wanted it to go, stick it out.
> 
> The plot twists just keep on coming in the final five chapters and I promise you, this will all be worth it.


	20. Kew Gardens Cinema

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and your best friend, John, go see a movie, Sarah interrupts a shower, and Dylan goes to Brazil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have this whole part taking place in early December (of 2017), and yea. More depressing bullshit. Also, i think i cried while writing this because i was listening to those songs so maybe do that for once if you don’t usually… :) I actually really loved writing this chapter sooooo. I hope you enjoy!

“I swear to god I wanna die a little every time I see the trailer to  _The Last Jedi_  before a movie we see, because I know that it means that we are still not seeing  _The Last Jedi_  after the trailers are over.” You leaned over the armrest, joking with your best friend, John, who laughed. 

“Less than two weeks.” He reminded you, about to continue talking about  _Star Wars_  until the sounds of panting began pumping through the speakers of the theater. You glanced up at the screen at the same time as John, both of your stomachs jumping up into your throats at the same time as you realized who was on the screen.

“ _What is this place?……Who put us here?_ ” The voice in the speakers asked, before other voices filled in.

“Holy shit…  _Y/n_ …” John turned the upper half of his body towards you, panic and worry completely taking over his facial expressions, but you missed it all. It was like the world around you melted away and the only sound you could hear was what was coming out of the surround sound, industrial sized speakers, and the only thing you could see was your ex-boyfriend’s face on a massive screen in front of you.

You thought about closing your eyes, until you saw the train.

 _The fucking train_.

The bile in your stomach climbed up your esophagus, and suddenly you could taste the sourness on your tongue. You swallowed it back and cringed, your fingers gripping tightly around the phone that was already in your grip. “ _Holy. Shit_.” It was all that you could even think to say.

“ _THERE IS NO CURE!_ ” Dylan screamed at Kaya on screen and you winced.

It was like being released after being held hostage, when the next trailer finally began rolling. “Y/n… are you okay?”

You blinked at the screen, staring at the preview running for  _Downsized_ , but not processing any of the information that your brain was receiving, until you heard your name a little louder. You turned your head and blinked at the worry lines seeping into your best friend’s forehead, until you finally spoke.

“I can’t believe they used the train footage for the trailer.”

“ _What_?” John could not have looked more confused.

“ _Nothing_..” You shook your head, knowing that he would be upset over what had upset you, after the initial shock of seeing Dylan’s face again.

“Are you okay?” John asked again.

You somehow managed to shake your head and nod at the same time, as you tried to control the look on your face. “Yea..  _yea_ , I’m fine. I just wasn’t expecting that…  _which_  I should’ve been,  _honestly_ , but I’m fine. I swear.” You lied.

John worried for a moment more, until the lights began to dim and the beginning scenes of  _Lady Bird_  rolled across the screen. “Good.  _Fuck him_. He didn’t deserve you.” John said his final peace, before paying attention to the movie, that the two of you went to see on a Friday night.

“ _Totally_.” You mumbled, certain that no one believed what you had just said.

You knew that you would have to see  _Lady Bird_  again. You laughed when John did and you agreed with the comments that he leaned over to make throughout, but in actuality, you soaked in none of it. You processed none of it. You felt nothing. You felt numb.

You had never thought about this aspect of dating a celebrity. You never thought about how horrible it would be to  _no longer be dating_ that celebrity. Your regular boyfriend’s faces and names weren’t plastered on billboards in Times Square, and your regular boyfriends voices didn’t ring through your ears before the movie, you paid fifteen dollars to see, began playing.

You wished you had thought of that. Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t be sitting where you were right then. You felt like you were floating above yourself. Nothing felt real suddenly. You had shut down your emotions. Honestly, if you hadn’t, you would’ve been crying in a stall in the Women’s Restroom the moment the trailer for  _The Death Cure_ ended.

This was not a great way to start a movie.

This was not a great way to start a weekend.

This was not a great way to start December.

This was no fun at all.

 _This shit hurt_.

* * *

* * *

* * *

You wrapped your towel loosely around you in an angry huff, annoyed that you were wetting it, even though you were going to get back in the shower, as soon as you had dealt with the nuisance, loudly banging on the bathroom door. “ **WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WA** -” You paused your irate yelling, and contorted your face in confusion. “The fuck are  _you_  doing here, Sarah?”

Sarah didn’t ask for an invitation into the bathroom, she pushed by you and seated herself down on the covered toilet seat, shoving your pajamas off the lid and onto the floor. You rolled your eyes and closed the door again. “I think we shouldn’t talk to Jules anymore.”

You scrunched your face in agitation and narrowed your eyes at your best friend since childhood. “The fuck are you even talking about? Why would we stop talking to Julia?”

“Because she’s related to that fuckbag.”

Your face grew even more contorted. “ _Fuckbag_?” You shook your head and rolled your eyes. “That’s not even a word.”

Sarah looked like she was about to argue, before she grimaced and locked the screen on her iPhone. “Do you still have conditioner in your hair, Y/n?”

Now you felt like smacking her upside the head.

You deadpanned at her. “ _Yes_ , I have conditioner in my hair because some ’ _fuckbag_ ’ wouldn’t stop banging on the bathroom door until I unlocked it.”

Sarah shrugged. “I’m not stopping you from finishing your shower.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes. “Jesus fucking christ.” You grumbled under your breath before stepping back into the shower, closing the curtain and setting your towel back on the counter for the sink. You turned the water back on and began rinsing the conditioner out of your hair. “I’m not going to stop being friends with Julia just because she is related to him. That’s fucked up. She’s one of my closest friends. She’s one of your best friends-”

Sarah cut you off. “You still want to be friends with her after everything that happened today though?” She yelled over the sound of running water.

You pulled the curtain back just enough for your head to poke out and scrubbed your hand down your face, trying to remove excess soap and water before you opened your eyes. “What happened today?”

“ _Wait_ ,” Sarah balked, her anger began sizzling out, only to be replaced by guilt. “you weren’t ignoring my texts because you were upset?”

You swept your hand around the room. “Do you see my phone in here?” Sarah surveyed the flat surfaces and found nothing but bathroom paraphernalia. “I only got home from work like twenty-five minutes ago. My firm has that big case in like a week,” You said, as if Sarah should remember what you were talking about. She grimaced as though she finally did. “and everyone has been working insanely long hours to prep.  _Remember_?”

You dipped your head back behind the curtain and went back to rinsing out the remaining conditioner. “I…  _forgot_.” She admitted. “I just though-”

“I’m fine, Lamb.” You invoked a childhood nickname for her, trying to convince her of something that wasn’t really true.

“If you say so.”

“What happened today?” You asked, bringing the conversation back to the obvious reason she came over in the first place.

Sarah mumbled a few expletives under her breath and then opened her phone back up. “ _Um_ , Britt did an interview this morning…”

You pulled the curtain back a little, once more, now revealing you to be sitting on the floor of the built-in tub. “Gotta say, Sare, don’t really fucking care if she solved  _world hunger_  today.” The curtain went back to concealing the entirety of the shower.

“Yea, except, she mentioned  _you_.”

The curtain flew back with more force than intended and more of your body was revealed than you had wanted. It didn’t really matter though. You had been best friends with Sarah for literally your entire lives and you had changed in front of each other and taken baths together as toddlers. Her seeing you shaving your legs was truly low on your list of ’ _big fucking deals_ ’.

“She did fucking  ** _what_**?”

“She didn’t say your  _name_ , but-” Sarah stopped herself, trying to think of a better way to approach the topic. “ _Okay_ ,” She began again. “Britt went on  _Live with Kelly and Ryan_  this morning to promote her new fucking whatever show.”

You tried to hide how much your hands were shaking, but you had stopped shaving your legs, so it had to be somewhat obvious. You sunk lower below the sides of the tub, only your head visible from where Sarah now sat, on the floor, near the sink, and let the hot water try to keep the shaking chills at bay.

It only barely worked.

Sarah continued. “ _Here_ , I have the video.” She went to hit play on the video, already loaded and ready to be viewed, on her phone screen.

You put your shaky hand up, dripping onto the absorbent carpet, and spoke firmly. “I don’t want to fucking watch her. Just tell me what happened.”

Sarah nodded once and locked her phone again. “Um, so, she got there and Kelly, like, asked a question, and it was weird because, like, the questions were really personal, but it was definitely just P.R. for the movie with  _fuckbag_  and, like,-”

Sarah’s rambling was only tolerable for about four seconds. You interjected. “Okay, new plan.” You sighed. “My headphones are in the coat pocket of the jacket on my bed. Grab them, come back in here, watch the video and tell me what they are saying, as you watch it.”

Sarah nodded once, then scrambled to her feet, rushing out of the room. You sat up more, tucking your knees up so that you could rest your forehead against them, and fold yourself in half. The shaking had migrated from your hands to the rest of your body and you felt ill and cold. You let the hot water run across the back of your head and drip down your face. You breathed in shallow spurts, just trying to keep your stomach from turning over, in open revolt. Sarah returned quickly.

“You okay?”

You picked your head up and rested your cheek against the tops of your knees, scooting out of the path of the water slightly. It still hit your shins, feet, and the top of your head. You watched her, as she sat on the floor next to the outside of the tub. “Just tell me what she said.”

Sarah put one earbud in and pressed ’ _Play_ ’, on the video. “ _Okay_ …. Okay, so they’re talking about nothing for a minute and then Kelly brings up that Britt is in a new relationship.”

“She said ’ _new relationship_ ’?” You clarified.

Sarah nodded and put her finger up in the air, asking you to be patient. “Yea, so Britt then clarifies that it’s not necessarily a new relationship, just a new chapter. Then Ryan interjects, to, like, fill in the audience who don’t give a flying fuck, and says, like, ’ _Oh, Dylan O'Fuckhead, of the new Maze Runner movie coming out in January?_ ’” Sarah put on her best fake, mocking voice. “And then Britt is like ’ _Yeah_ ’, and then Kelly literally, like, asks if they had actually broke up, she like says, like, ’ _But weren’t the two of you in different relationships quite recently_?’ and Britt then says, ‘Y _eah, I mean, we met and got together when we were twenty and twenty-one and then spent six years together and we just sort of grew apart and needed time to experience new things, but those new things obviously weren’t right and, I think, we both consider them mistakes, and we, really luckily found our way back to each other._ ’”

“ _Mistakes_?”

First came fury. Fury was quickly replaced by panic. Panic went just as fast into confusion. Confusion lingered even after sadness crept in. Sadness was replaced in no time at all with righteous indignation. The indignation was replaced by pure rage and then the need to vomit.

“ ** _A FUCKING MISTAKE_**?!” You screamed, hearing your voice echo off the tiles, only to quickly be dampened by the running water. “A fucking  _mistake_? I’ll tell you who made a fucking mistake here, and it wasn’t one of fucking them.”

Sarah looked furious for you, but mostly just guilty and upset. She nodded. “I know. I was so fucking angry that I went-”

“Did she say anything else about me?” You cut Sarah off.

Sarah shook her head. “No, they segued that into talking about the character she plays in her new stupid fucking show.” You rolled your eyes, your face red hot with absolute outrage.

“Fucking publicity hungry whores.” You grumbled, using your words to choke back the tears that were pooling.

“That’s what I said, so I went on his Twitter to see if he had said anything, and he hadn’t but his bitchy god damn manager-”

“ _Mary_?” You asked, your blood pressure skyrocketing at the thought of the tall blonde.

Sarah nodded. “Yea, she tweeted something on behalf of Dylan, on his management company’s twitter page.”

“What does it say?”

You reached over and snatched the phone out of Sarah’s hand, with your soaking wet one, and read the statement from his representative, while hunched over the edge of the tub. Sarah read along with you, but mostly stared at your face, trying to see if your expression changed. You dropped Sarah’s phone back in her lap, and closed the curtain to conceal yourself once again. You and Sarah sat in silence for a minute, angrily seething.

“You okay in there?” She asked.

“I was just summed up as a brief summer romance and a mistake that Dylan has learned from. How do you think I’m doing right now? I cannot fucking believe - I mean, I know we didn’t end things on the best of terms, but this just  _doesn’t_ -”

“I know.” Sarah interjected.

“I don’t fucking deserve that.” You sniffled.

“I know.” Sarah stuck only her hand around the edge of the curtain, holding it out for you to hold. You did, clutching on and quietly letting go of the control you had on your tear ducts. You began to sob.

You honestly didn’t think you could get more heartbroken.

 _You were wrong_.

Eventually you got out of the shower and Sarah went home. You downed more than half a bottle of pinot noir and climbed into bed, already resigned to being late for work the next morning. They were lucky that you still planned on even coming in at all.

You picked up your phone to set your alarm when you saw a text message from Julia. Your stomach jumped up into your throat, as you read it.

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Hey, I know you asked for a moratorium on all things my brother, but I talked to Sarah and she said she was on her way over to talk to you about what happened today and I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m about to call him to rip him a new one. That wasn’t right what they did. I hope you’re okay. I love you <3_

The tears rolled down your cheeks, and you wiped them away with your wrist, as you scrolled down the page to read the second text in your conversation, one sent an hour later.

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Don’t kill me… I promise I’ll never talk about him again after tonight, but Dylan genuinely didn’t know that any of that had happened today. He was really upset. He said you had him blocked on everything. You should unblock him and check his Twitter, just this once._

You closed out of your Messages app and opened Google. You didn’t need to unblock him, you simply typed in his handle and his account came up in the search results. You clicked on the link and waited for it to load.

His last tweet read: ’ _A note about today’s statement -_ ’ and attached was a screenshot of a Note from his phone. You clicked on the picture and began reading.

You closed the application and reopened your Messages.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _hey, i’m not mad at you. i never was. thank you for that though_.

Julia texted back almost instantaneously, despite the late hour.

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _I’m really sorry, Y/n. He was devastated. He seriously had no fucking clue any of it had happened._   

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _He wrote the message after I got off the phone with him. I don’t know… That was all him_.

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _I just thought you should know_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _i am glad to know it wasn’t him that said that. i’m gonna go to bed though. i’ll see you this weekend_?

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Totally! Night_ :)

You didn’t respond after that.

You didn’t sleep after that either.

You just laid in bed that night, turning his words over in your head, not having the slightest idea as to where to start, in terms of your feelings.

So you laid there, simply  _numb_.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Dylan zipped up his duffel bag and walked into his room to grab his new gray Vans and his black Mets cap. He smoothed his long hair back over his scalp and pulled the cap snug around his head, then sat down on the couch to put on his shoes. He heard his phone ding and thought it was odd that the car, that the studio had sent over to take him to LAX, was so early. He paused, with only one shoe on, and only half tied at that, and grabbed his phone, laying face down on the couch next to him.

 **Y/n Y/L/N:**   _hey_.

Dylan stared at his phone for a while, the name becoming etched into his retinas. His fingers were clammy and his hands were shaky, but he just kept staring. His stomach churned and he honestly thought he was about to be sick. His stomach was doing somersaults and he kind of wanted to die.

 _This shit hurt_.

He began composing replies in his head. He thought about being trite and curt and chastising you for unblocking him when you wanted to talk to him, but when he wanted to talk to you, he couldn’t reach you at all. He thought about yelling at you for blocking him at all. You broke up with him, he should’ve been the one to block you. He thought about the vindictive power it would give him if he waited and waited and waited to text you back until you texted him again.

But then he thought about what if you weren’t as desperate to talk to him as he was to talk to you. What if you didn’t text him a second time? What if you just blocked him again. Then he fucked up his chances once more. And at any rate, the curiosity was too much, it hung in the back of his throat.

He had to know. He would never ignore you if you reached out. He settled on a simple reply.

 **Dylan O'Brien:**   _Hey_

The anxiety instantly became too much, and Dylan chucked his phone across his living room. He really didn’t care if the glass on the face of the iPhone shattered. It made no difference. He simply could not sit on that couch, staring at his phone, waiting for a reply with bated breath for however long it took you to respond. He patted the soft pockets of his new gray joggers and felt only the tense muscles of his legs underneath the fabric.

He had stuffed his pack of cigarettes in the outer, side pocket of his backpack, so that he wouldn’t have to take it out of his pants while going through security. He reached over, practically falling off the couch to reach the satchel on the floor, next to his coffee table, and grabbed at the pack and lighter. He quickly lit the cigarette and let the anxiety slip away with each cloud of smoke that he exhaled. He melted into the couch below him and stared at an electrical outlet on the opposite wall, unplugged and staring back at him with a surprised frown. He took an even longer drag, trying to ignore the look of disappointment that his home’s power source was giving him.

The phone dinged across the room and Dylan felt the anxiety quickly creep back up. He pushed himself up and walked to his iPhone, taking another long, deep puff of his cigarette, then picked up his cell. The screen was, in fact, slightly cracked and webbed in the top right corner, but it made no difference in regards to its abilities. He saw your name on the screen again, and suddenly, a second text rang through the room and popped up on his phone.

 **Y/n Y/L/N:**   _i was going to text Julia and ask her, but i figured she’d tell you i was asking so.._.

 **Y/n Y/L/N:**   _i was reading about the fires at work today, and saw that they were headed towards Burbank._

Another text came through, as Dylan stood in the middle of his living room, staring at his phone, while his cigarette slowly burned towards his fingers.

 **Y/n Y/L/N:**   _i wanted to make sure that you and the house were okay…_

Dylan shut his eyes for a moment. You were worried about him.

_**You. Were. Worried. About. Him.** _

He let that feeling settle into his chest for a moment, before he bent over, putting the cigarette out in the ash tray on his coffee table, and walked towards his backyard. Suddenly, the smell of his own favorite brand was making him queasy. It was definitely the guilt that came with smoking again. He closed the sliding glass door behind him and felt the heat of Los Angeles bearing down on him, even as he stood in the shade. He pressed the small info button, then tapped your number. It rang twice and then you picked up.

Dylan spoke first. “Hey.” He managed to sound eager, yet uneasy.

“ _Hi_ …” You sounded small and quiet, but fucking christ, if Dylan’s heart didn’t do a twirl.

 _It was you_. It was your voice.

Dylan thought that he was honestly beginning to forget what your voice sounded like, but, really, it was  _exactly_  as he remembered, and  _oh god_ , it felt so good to hear it again. His chest was tight and he lowered himself into a patio chair slowly and carefully, as if he had been physically hurt somehow.

He kind of had been.  _A limb had been torn off three weeks prior_.

“I’m okay…. the house is okay.” He finally answered your question.

“ _But it is moving towards Burbank, right?_ ” That angelic voice rung through his ears again, and glimpses of your perfect face flashed through his head. The phantom limb ached.

Dylan rubbed his hand against his face and all he could smell was cigarette smoke, and while talking to you, the scent made him nauseous. He winced and brought his plain, white t-shirt up towards his nose. It smelled like smoke too. He’d change before he left. “Yea, they’re saying it might hit Burbank, but I’m leaving, so-”

“ _You’re evacuating?!_ ” The panic and concern sounded clearly in your voice, and in the most awful of ways, it made Dylan happy. You cared.  _You honestly fucking cared_.

He couldn’t relish in his small victory though. He didn’t want you to ever worry. “No, no, no! I’m about to head to LAX. I’m going to comic con in Brazil for  _Death Cure_ , and the car picks me up in like ten minutes, so hopefully, the worst will be over for Burbank, at least, by the time I get back.”

“ _Oh_..” He couldn’t tell what you were feeling from your vocal inflections anymore and he hated it. “ _That’s good._ ”

“Yea…” He couldn’t help himself. “So, how are you?”

“ _I’m okay._ ” You answered quickly and quietly. “ _I’ve been working a lot and I was just in Chicago with Heather for a few days, so, you know, busy._ ”

“That’s good. How’s Heather?” Dylan asked, unwilling to let the conversation die. He traced the patterns in the etched glass of his patio table, aimlessly with his finger, waiting for you to bless him with your voice again.

“ _She’s good. It was fun… Dylan,_ ” You said his name. It was like a shot of heroin after months of being clean; he didn’t know how badly he wanted it until he had it in his system again. “ _why did you call me?_ ”

He grimaced. He called because…  _there were a million reasons_ , if Dylan was being honest with himself. He told you  _one_  of them. “I knew that if you hadn’t talked to me in almost three weeks, and yet you were texting me, that you had to be worried enough to actually want to talk to me, and I didn’t… I just didn’t want you to have to worry or sit and wait for me to type a reply.”

There was silence for a moment, and Dylan shoved his forehead against his forearm, laying flat against the table; his sweet, upturned nose pressing against the warm glass. The anxiety mounted each time you didn’t speak, but it melted away instantly at the sound of your voice. “ _Thank you._ ” You paused again, but he was smiling. “ _I **was**  really worried. It looks really bad out there._”

“I’m okay. I promise.” Dylan whispered into the phone, before a more comfortable silence took over. “So, was it just you and Heather or did Sarah go too?” He asked, rising to his feet when he heard the doorbell ring.

Dylan listened as you spoke, opening the door and smiling and nodding at the man who came to pick him up. He pointed towards the couch, with the hand not attached to the phone on his ear, at his luggage, then held his finger up, gesturing that he would be a minute, as he disappeared into his bedroom.

“That’s sucks about Heather and her boyfriend, but that was what you wanted. You didn’t like him.” Dylan spoke loudly, as he placed you on speakerphone and pulled his smelly shirt off over his head, cringing at the scent when it wafted into his nostrils again.

“ _I know, but it still doesn’t mean that I’m not upset for her. She spent most of the trip crying. It was really sad._ ”

Dylan loved how sweet and caring and protective you were of your friends, and he smiled, as he pulled the black t-shirt, from the top of his drawer, on over his head, before walking back to his bed to grab his baseball hat and phone. He took you off of speaker and continued your discussion, pivoting to how your family was doing, specifically your grandmother, as he locked his back door, and turned off lights. He locked up his house completely and got in the car, vowing to not tell you that he was on his way to the airport, in fear that you would want to hang up. He couldn’t stomach the thought of your voice not singing through his brain.

The two of you talked the entire ride to LAX. He didn’t talk about Britt and you didn’t tell him that you had seen his trailer.  _You just talked_. Politics, Mickey Callaway and Aaron Boone, Posey on  _Jane the Virgin_ , the adventures that you and Trixie had been on lately; _everything and anything_ …

It was natural and safe and even more wonderful than he remembered, but also even more heart wrenching. He was so happy just to be talking to you. You were on the other side of the country, and he was about to leave the country, but it was your voice in his ear and he was happy because of that. All that Dylan wanted to do was tell you that he missed you so much.

_But he didn’t._

The situation had remained the same. You had pushed him away and asked him to fall back into the arms of his former love. That rejection still stung.

Dylan didn’t even think about it, when he spotted the crowd and mumbled out what was on his brain. “ _Oh fuck_ , there’s paparazzi…”

“ _Where_?” You asked, confused as to why he had randomly changed the subject off of his family’s Christmas plans.

Dylan hesitated for a split second, realizing his slip up.  _He was about to lose you again._  He could see it coming like a speeding train, and he was tied to the tracks. “At LAX.” He answered, sullenly.

You paused for a moment. “ _So, you have to go?_ ”

“Yea, I guess.” He leaned forward and rubbed his hand against his forehead and face again, the vile smell of tobacco and nicotine entering his nose again. It was only vile when he was talking to you.

“ _Have a safe flight, Dyl_.”

’ _ **Dyl**_ ’. His heart skipped an entire beat and he scrunched his face in agony. God…  _oh god, he missed you saying that_.

Suddenly, Dylan felt like he was going to have a safe flight now,  _solely_  because you said that. It was stupid; he knew that, but if they existed, if he believed in them, you were like an angel, in his mind, and if you wanted him to have a safe flight, he was going to because of your sheer force of will. It both caused him severe pain and so much comfort because he knew that this could be the last time that he ever heard you say that to him again.

“Thanks…” He muttered, still sitting, buckled in to the backseat of the black SUV, idling on the drop off curb.

“ _Bye, Dylan_.” You managed to get out.

’ _Bye_ ’.  **Fuck** , that hurt him. It wasn’t ’ _Talk to you later’_  or even ’ _Nice catching up_ ’. It was simply ’ _Bye_.“ It all felt so final, again, and the misery descended upon him once more.

“Yea, bye, Y/n.”

* * *

“[ _It seems so out of context in this gaudy apartment complex. A stranger with your door key, explaining that ‘I’m just visiting_.](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DqGcLgOZm_Ic&t=NmIzOTIzNTg1MWU4ZDM2OWY0MDJiMmYzYWZhM2MwNzRhNDE1Yjg0OSxoUzVIOVNMdg%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F171886483787%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-20-dylan-obrien&m=1)”

Dylan sat in his seat on the plane, headphones stuck in both his ears, seatbelt buckled in, waiting for his water from the flight attendant. The conflict pulling at his chest was bubbling inside of him, as he listened to a cover of a song that he heard you singing in the shower one day and had loved ever since.

It was only in this moment that he realized  _how_   _sad_  it was. The girl singing didn’t sing it as well as you did,  _or maybe she did_. Maybe everything just sounded sweeter, to him, when it came from your lips. He scrolled back months into your conversation in  _iMessage_  on his phone, feeling torn over how, in that moment, he related to the words of the song, but also feeling happy as he reminisced over how happy he was in the words on his screen.

“ _The district sleeps alone tonight, after the bars turn out their lights and send the autos swerving into the loneliest evenings._ ”

A notification bar dropped down from the top of his screen. ’ _Message from Britt Roberts-_ ’ It cut off the end of her long name.

Dylan let the notification disappear, and swiped up on the next three that dropped down from her. He was sure she was simply wishing him a safe flight, but he had already gotten the well wishes he desired. He continued reading through the messages between you and him, clicking on the pictures that popped up and feeling so full over seeing your smiling face on his screen.

_But then he remembered._

You weren’t his anymore.

“ _I am finally seeing that I was the one worth leaving. I was worth leaving. I was the one worth leaving. I was the one worth leaving._ ”

* * *

You had honestly been good.

Okay, not  _honestly_ , but you  _had_  been putting on a brave face for three weeks, and you  _hadn’t_  cried since three days after you walked out of Dylan’s apartment, which felt like an accomplishment in and of itself.

So,  _you had honestly been good_ ; or, at the very least, that was what you had been telling yourself and everyone else.

But then, in a moment of weakness, you texted him.

In a moment of pity, he called you.

In a moment of,  _who knows what_ , the two of you ended up talking for an hour.

It was like being wrapped up in a warm blanket on a freezing cold night, only to feel like the blanket had been ripped off, unceremoniously, when you hung up the call and the gravely, low timbre of his voice was no longer quietly buzzing in your ear.

You couldn’t help the fact that some idiot sparked a massive wildfire in Southern California. You couldn’t help that you quickly finished typing up the research memos for your boss’ big trial, and instead of going home, you went on Twitter and saw the video of what looked like  _actual hell_  ascended onto the 405 freeway and the Getty Museum.

You couldn’t help that….

 _Fuck_.

You couldn’t help, for a single second, that you were  _still wildly, depressingly, excruciatingly in love with Dylan O'Brien_ , and the moment that you began reading about the wildfires, you were immediately terrified for him.

You knew you could’ve texted Julia. You had asked her not to give you updates on Dylan or her parents for a while, and she had happily fulfilled that request, but you knew that she would’ve broken your new rule if you had asked her to. You knew the plethora of ways in which you could’ve checked that he, his house and all that he held close, were safe, but you still texted him instead.

You needed to be comforted, and he was going to be the only thing that could squelch your fears.

So, you  _texted_.

He  _called_.

The two of you talked for an hour, falling back into the old, familiar ease of your relationship with no effort or awkwardness at all.

For an hour,  _you forgot_.

For an hour,  _you allowed yourself to long for him once more_.

For an hour,  _you were happy again_.

 _It was only an hour though_ , and as fast as the call came, it was over and Dylan was getting off the phone, to get on a plane to go to a different country.

About twenty minutes after you got off the phone with him, you left work. You were just barely keeping it all together, despite feeling like you had been unmade by the sound of his voice and the way that it settled in the bottom of your chest, leaving you feeling full and content for the first time in weeks, and then suddenly empty and miserable all over again.

The subway car from your office, in Manhattan, to your apartment, in Queens, was only marginally full. You had left work before schools let out and the end of the work day rush hour turned every train car into a sardine can full of tired, overheated humans. You sat in an empty silence for the first three stops, then you pulled your headphones out of your pocket. You untangled the cords and shoved the little white speakers into your ears, before hooking them into your iPhone and turning the ’ _Shuffle_ ’ function on in your ’ _Music_ ’ application.

"Fuck.” You quietly muttered, under your breath as you heard the [familiar pattern of acoustic guitar strings being plucked and strummed](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D7K2DQ8XBRbU&t=ZjkxM2FiZmE0ZGMyOGMzNzU4MjYzZWZjMGRjZjAwZjk0Y2E4ZTRmZixoUzVIOVNMdg%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F171886483787%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-20-dylan-obrien&m=1). Your thumb hovered over the ’ _Skip_ ’ button, but then your inner masochist reared its ugly head and told you that you were  _weak_  if you couldn’t listen to this song.

So, instead, you locked your phone, shut your eyes, and leaned back against the light blue plastic bench of the train car.

“ _[I don’t think I’m gonna go to L.A. anymore. I don’t think I’m gonna go to L.A. anymore. I don’t know what it’s like to land and not race to your door. I don’t think I’m gonna go to L.A. anymore](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D7K2DQ8XBRbU&t=ZjkxM2FiZmE0ZGMyOGMzNzU4MjYzZWZjMGRjZjAwZjk0Y2E4ZTRmZixoUzVIOVNMdg%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F171886483787%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-20-dylan-obrien&m=1)_.”

It quickly felt like too much.

John Mayer, quietly serenading you via your headphones, instantly brought back vivid memories of Dylan flying to New York, from London, for one night, just to spend time with you, meet your mom, and take you backstage at a concert. If you shut your eyes tight enough and focused hard enough, you could practically feel the warmth that radiated off of Dylan’s chest, onto your back, as he swayed behind you, in time to the music, holding you close.

 _This was a time where he loved you_. A time where you were in love with him… not that that second part had changed much at all, but the first part had; you were sure of it.

You listened to the second verse of the song and continued to feel the misery descend. Your face flushed with a heated red, which radiated from the bottoms of your toes, to the tips of your ears. You sunk into the high, protectively warm neck of your winter coat, and tried to continue toughing it out. If you could get through a song, written particularly about a bi-coastal long distance relationship that just didn’t work out, and still manage to, sort of, keep your shit together, then you would feel accomplished, stronger, a sense of moving on.

You heard the guitar shift towards the chorus and your heart swelled with a flurry of emotions:  _fear, grief, understanding, frustration, anger, sheer misery, and longing_.

“ _I’m gonna steer clear, burn up in your atmosphere. I’m gonna steer clear, cause I’d die if I saw you. I’d die if I didn’t see you there. So, I don’t think I’m gonna go to L.A. anymore._ ”

A new emotion began to bubble under the surface, quickly overtaking all the others.

You began to feeling  _inordinately overwhelmed_.

You identified with this song too strongly, too personally. You took every word in and understood every feeling of avoidance and fear of loneliness. To have a beloved routine and someone to go home to, and then to have it taken away; to ever fly to Los Angeles again, and not have Dylan pick you up at the airport, and take you either home or to one of your spots…  _you understood_.

You would prefer to just not ever return to that city, rather than feel the immense loss and pain that came with the landing at LAX and not seeing Dylan waiting for you.

Your eyes began to burn, tears clawing their way up your throat and towards your lash lines. You opened them, tilted your head all the way back, and stared up at the white, fluorescent lights imbedded in the ceiling of the subway car, letting a different kind of burning seep into your eyeballs. You were about half way through the song and you just had to finish it without crying, and then you would know that you were beginning to move on.

You knew how stupid it sounded, but you were grasping for any kind of sign towards closure.

“ _I don’t think I’m gonna go to L.A. anymore; get lost on the Boulevard at night, without your voice to tell me, 'I love you, take a right.’ The ten and the two is the loneliest sight_.”

The music faded to the background and suddenly every memory you ever had of you and Dylan driving around in his car came crashing down on your head, like a trailer being dropped on you in the middle of a tornado.

“ _Fuck_.” You muttered louder this time.

You stuffed your phone in your coat pocket, grabbed your backpack, slung it over your shoulder, wiped your gloved hand over the tears streaming down your cheek, and stood.

 _You saw your fingers twirling in the long hairs on the back of his head, as he drove, shoulders relaxed and face happy, quietly cooing over the soothing motion. It became a habit, like breathing, involuntary and innate, whenever you got in the passenger seat of a car he was driving_. You remembered the way that he’d move his muscular hand from the gear shift, to your knee, stroking soft lines against your skin.

The tears came like a levee that had burst.

 _So did the memories_.

With the happy memories came more tears. With the tears, came more memories, and so on, and so on, and soon, you could barely see clearly enough to notice that the subway car doors had opened.

“ _Wherever I go, whatever I do, I wonder where I am in my relationship to you. Wherever you go, wherever you are, I watch your life play out in pictures from afar. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I wonder where I am in my relationship to you. Wherever you go, wherever you are, I watch that pretty life play out in pictures from afar._ ”

This wasn’t your stop. Not even close. You were pretty sure this was only the second stop on the F train, once it had made it across the East River into Queens, but you couldn’t be on that car anymore. You couldn’t be openly weeping, uncontrollably sobbing, miserably crying in front of a half full car of strangers and their purposefully averted gazes. You ran towards the end of the platform, a part that was empty, now that your train pulled away from the station, and everyone that wanted to get on, did, and everyone that was getting off, was exiting the station.

You didn’t even wait for the song to finish playing.

You couldn’t hear John singing your pain back to you anymore. And honestly,  _who were you trying to kid by thinking that you were ready for a song that you might as well have written yourself about dating, and subsequently breaking up with Dylan O'fuckingBrien_?

You ripped the little, white, Apple earpods out of your ears, yanked the plug out of the headphone jack and threw them into the closest trash can, on the platform, before you managed to find a bench, regardless of how bleary-eyed and wobbly on your feet you were.

You shook the small movie playing back memories, in Los Angeles with him, out of your head, and let the tears fall freely. Your gloved hands mets your eyes, and you were certain that you had smeared your makeup all over your face. You couldn’t find it in you to care.

You wondered what Dylan was doing right in that moment. You assumed he was probably sitting at his gate, talking on the phone with the girl he loved all along, chatting about how his crazy ex used the wildfires to keep him in the phone for an hour.

You tried to convince yourself that he was that cruel.

Maybe if he was, you’d move on faster.

Instead, you just sat on the bench, thinking of Los Angeles, Dylan and the empty feeling in your chest.

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics for Dylan are from The Postal Service’s epically sad ballad, The District Sleeps Alone Tonight, but I am referring to the cover by Birdy. check it out. Lyrics for the reader are from John Mayer’s epically sad ballad, In Your Atmosphere.


	21. The O'Brien's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan struggles through the holidays because of the choices he continues to make.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Contains **SPOILERS** for ‘ _Call Me By Your Name_ ’. If you would like to skip that section, you can look for the CMBYN gifs that bookend the section.
> 
> So this was done, and then I saw ‘ _Call Me By Your Name_ ’ a second time, and downloaded the soundtrack and just felt so fucking inspired. It would make sense that Dylan would see the movie of the guy who’s directing his upcoming movie. I couldn’t help giving him such a visceral reaction to it, mostly because that’s what the movie invokes.

Dylan sat on his parents front porch swing, scratching at the torso of his red hoodie and staring at the beer bottle in his hand. He looked around at the christmas lights twinkling on the lawn of the neighbors across the street and pulled his phone out of his pants pocket. ’ _12/06/17_ ’ was the time stamp, on the right side of your conversation box in  _iMessage_. Two more days and it would be three weeks since he had last spoken to you. He was pretty sure he thought of you just about every other hour, since you had hung up the phone that day, as he sat inside of the black SUV on the departures curb of Los Angeles International Airport.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how you were probably in a beautiful velvet dress with a glass of wine in your hand. Your nose was probably tinged a hint of red because, even though you were inside at the Christmas Eve party you went to every year with your family, it was cold in New York and he wasn’t there to keep you warm. He smiled at the image he was conjuring in his head: neat curls sweeping against your shoulders, a red stained lip, long black eyelashes, and your perfect pearly whites were all etched into his brain. He was certain you were stunning. He thought about how the twinkling white lights from the Christmas tree probably illuminated your face perfectly and all he wished for was to be having a snowy, cold, traditional East Coast Christmas, like when he was young,  _with you_. His heart ached for it.

 _It ached for you_.

He unlocked his phone again; this time, finally pressing on your conversation. He began typing, deleting, and retyping several different variations of a simple ’ _Merry Christmas, Y/n_.’

“Hey, Dylhole. We’re about to start watching  _Rudolph_..” Julia broke his concentration, and he looked surprised, as his head whipped up in his older sister’s direction.

“I’ll be in, in a few.” He muttered, staring back at his phone.

“You okay?” Julia sat down on the swing and glanced at his phone. “ _Oh_ ….”

Dylan looked over at her and shook his head. “I was just going to wish her a Merry Christmas. There’s no reason we can’t be civil.”

“Didn’t she block your number?” Julia asked.

Dylan shrugged. “I wasn’t blocked a few weeks ago.”

“Dyl, maybe you shouldn’t..” Julia spoke lower, but Dylan cut her off.

“ _Why_? Cause I’m dating Britt again? I’m not doing anything wrong by texting Y/n ’ _Merry Christmas_ ’.” He defended himself, even though he hadn’t been accused of anything; his guilty conscience was beginning to show. “It’s not like I’m cheating on her.”

“Well, I’m not entirely sure that’s true… although, I suppose this would definitely be considered a gray area since you’re definitely still in love with her-”

“Britt?” Dylan raised his eyebrows.

“ _Y/n._.” Julia shook her head, and Dylan’s brows drooped. “But if she isn’t talking to you, is it even emotional cheating, or is it just,  _you’re not over it yet_?”

“I’m not still in love with Y/n.” Dylan replied, sullenly, locking his phone and shoving it back in his pocket. If he texted you now, Julia would be right and he would just be pathetic.

“ **OHkay**.” Julia exhaled deeply, before rubbing her hand against her little brother’s shoulder blade. “I didn’t want to tell you this, and I wasn’t going to, but Britt is inside with mom and dad right now and you’re out here texting Y/n-”

“I didn’t text her, okay? I haven’t talked to her in weeks.” Dylan was getting defensive again.

“I know.” Julia sounded like she knew something more, so Dylan looked up, locking eyes with his sister. “ _Y/n went on a date three nights ago_. It was some guy from work.”

Dylan felt like he was going to be sick…..

 _No_.

Dylan  _was_  going to be sick.

He ran over to the edge of the porch, gripped onto the wooden railing and emptied the contents of his stomach out onto his mom’s flower garden below.

“ _Shit_.” Julia rushed after him and rubbed his back.

Dylan turned, the color completely washed out from his tanned skin, and looked angry. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and narrowed his angry, amber eyes at Julia. “ **She went on a fucking date**?”

“ _Are you serious, Dyl?_ ” Julia cocked her head back. “You’re already  _in a relationship_. Yea, she went on a date. You can’t honestly be mad at her right now.”

He was though. 

“ _Just_ ….” He sighed and shook his head, leaning back over the railing and spitting into the flowers, trying to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. “Go back inside. I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”

“ _Dyl_..” Julia’s tone softened.

Dylan’s didn’t. “Please.  _Okay_? Jesus fucking christ, Jules. I just want to be alone for, like, a fucking second, alright?”

Julia didn’t say anything more. She simply closed the front door behind her.

Dylan’s hands shook, as he reached into his trousers pocket and pulled out his cigarettes and lighter. The flame flickered hot against his thumb, as he tried to steady himself enough to light the stick between his lips. It finally caught and he inhaled incredibly deep. He fixed his forearms against the railing and then pushed his head against his sweatshirt sleeves, bending over to inhale the fresh air below his rising smoke. His parents hated when he smoked but he was a god damn wreck at that very moment and he needed this.

Dylan thought about deleting your number. He thought about calling you to yell at you.  _He thought about some handsome man’s arm around your shoulder, as you smiled up at him and introduced him to your family friends at the Christmas Eve party._  

If you knew him from work, he was probably rich and smart; most likely a lawyer from your own firm. Dylan was not one for school, and he never really felt lesser for not continuing his education into college, but in that moment, all he could think about was the ways in which this new mystery guy could probably challenge you intellectually better than he could. He remembered all of the times that you praised Dylan for how smart and clever he was, but his self doubt was hitting him like a ton of bricks and he was wondering if you had been lying to inflate his ego.

 _He hated you_. 

He took another long drag of his cigarette. His hands had finally stopped shaking, and the angry fog began lifting.

 _He didn’t hate you_. 

He was pretty sure you could shoot him, point blank, in the middle of the street, and  _he would still love you_. Julia was right.  _He_  was in a fucking relationship already. He had zero right to be angry with you for going on  _a date_. 

Besides, you deserved someone better than him.

“ _Dylan_?” Britt’s voice rang out, as he heard the front door crack open. He pulled out a second cigarette, deciding to chain smoke his entire pack before heading back inside.

 _Someone so much better_.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Dylan sat in the movie theater with his mom, Lisa, watching Luca Guadagnino’s, the director of his own upcoming film, new film, ‘ _Call Me By Your Name’_. Dylan had heard nothing but praise for the movie about two young men who fell in love over the course of a summer in Northern Italy and then had to deal with the repercussions of those feelings once Autumn came. 

It was only a few days after Christmas, and Britt was still in town as well, but Dylan thought that he would rather see the movie with just his mother. He didn’t want to be distracted.

 _Or uncomfortable_.

Dylan spent most of the movie with a sickening pit in the bottom of his stomach. He watched Elio and Oliver traipsing through Italy together in their final days with one another, and felt his phantom limb ache once again. [Sufjan Steven’s whimsical guitar picking and soft voice](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DKQT32vW61eI&t=NjZlMDYyZmQ3YTZkZTMxOTRhOGZmYmNjYzFkMDFmZGE4OWY5MTAwMCwydjlRVGE3MQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172088621714%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-21-dylan-obrien&m=1) filled Dylan’s ears, as the sight of Elio and Oliver racing up a foggy mountainside drowned his brain in a dreadful feeling.

“ _Oh, oh woe-oh-woah is me. The last time that you touched me. Oh, will wonders ever cease? Blessed be the mystery of love._ ”

He truly felt sick the moment that Oliver stepped on the train, at the station in Clusone. Dylan honestly thought he might actually vomit. The aching feeling of understanding Elio’s dissent into misery was overwhelming to him. Watching the young boy desperately try to hold it together, and fail miserably, after saying goodbye to a person that he was unsure he would ever see again, but who he loved intensely and fiercely. 

Dylan identified with the character even more.

As he watched Elio in the car with his mother, feeling as miserable as ever before, Dylan couldn’t help but be swept up in his own painful memories. He flashed back to the day that he got on the plane at JFK to return to Los Angeles, after he was done shooting  _The Affair_ , instead of staying in New York for Thanksgiving, as was originally planned. He couldn’t bare the thought of having to tell all of his family members why they weren’t going to meet you after all. 

He cried on the plane; quietly and under the cover of the hood of his sweatshirt, but he did. The further from New York, his plane took him, the further from you he felt. 

 _It was a desolate feeling_.

Mary told Britt that he was in L.A. again for the foreseeable future when he left New York. Britt came over three days later, he sought comfort in her familiarity, and his feelings for you quickly moved from sorrow to anger. 

Within a week, he had gotten back together with Britt.

 _Originally, just to spite you_.

Regardless of the fact that you might not actually know.

He was lashing out in the only way he knew how. He knew you deserved so much better than him.

The anger had long subsided, and all that was left was the aching phantom limb. You had been cut out from his life, so quickly, and in such a seemingly permanent manner, he honestly felt like he had lost a leg or an arm. 

 _Something that made his life easier, but was not necessarily vital_. 

Dylan felt on the verge of crying throughout most of the end of the movie. 

Wintertime came, and the Perlman’s returned to their villa in Italy, and Dylan prayed that Oliver would show up. He knew it wasn’t likely; that wasn’t how real life worked, but he hoped. Maybe if Oliver showed up at the door and reunited with Elio, all those months later, in a space where their love had not dissipated a bit..  _well_ , Dylan didn’t know what it would mean for him,  _but he hoped that Oliver would show up nonetheless_.

The phone rang on the screen and Dylan knew that Oliver wasn’t going to resurface physically. The relief in Elio’s voice upon hearing Oliver’s voice through the receiver filled Dylan with jealousy. He ached to hear your voice. He ached for the relief he knew it would bring him.

Then, Dylan’s worst fears, ones that he didn’t even realize he had yet, came to light on the screen.  _Oliver had moved on_  and Elio was left with his lingering feelings of love and longing and his new feelings of sorrow and loneliness. 

Dylan remembered how he had felt a few days prior when Julia had told him that you had gone on a date, and the floodgates tried hard to open. A few tears fell down Dylan’s cheeks. He tried to discreetly wipe them away, under the guise of scratching at his beard. He caught his mother’s glance regardless.

He couldn’t cover it up any more as he watched Elio crouch in front of the fireplace, after getting off the phone with Oliver, and go through the gambit of his raw and new emotions, after finding out that Oliver was getting married. Elio perched there, openly crying, being warmed by the fire, yet feeling empty and cold on the inside. 

 _Dylan cried too_. 

He couldn’t even help it. [The horribly heartbreaking song playing in the background](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3D58Z1-y0ZNxw&t=NTkzNTBlMjE5OTIxZjIzOWFjMTAyYjA1MjU4Y2VmOGFlZjM2ODc2YiwydjlRVGE3MQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AwUX1Lq2S9x8l4UbM8Jaoig&p=https%3A%2F%2Fwere-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F172088621714%2Fthe-summer-fling-chapter-21-dylan-obrien&m=1) did nothing to push down the pit that had risen from his stomach to the middle of his throat.

“ _I have loved you for the last time. Is it a video? Is it a video? I have touched you for the last time. Is it a video? Is it a video?_ ”

Dylan fell inward, into his own abyss of memories, because of those words. He thought back to the last time he had made love to you. It was unremarkable and quick.  _He didn’t know it would be the last time_. It was two days before you broke up with him. He had woken up in his apartment and had to get to set in a couple of hours, but he just couldn’t deny how perfect you had looked that morning in his bed. You were tired and half asleep, and he knew he had to rush. It was unremarkable and quick and not at all how he would’ve wanted his last time to be with you,  _if he had known_.

He thought back to the last time he touched you. You had yanked your arm out of his hand, and then walked out the front door. The last time he touched you was filled with pain and hurt and detachment and Dylan’s tears fell freely. He couldn’t hide it anymore.  _Elio stared into the fire and cried with him_. 

 _Was it all just a memory? Were you just a memory? Was it a video?_  

He felt separate from his own life.

The hurt reminded him that it  _was_  real. The song ended and the final credits rolled along the screen in silence, until the lights went up and Dylan tried to wipe the despair from his chin and cheeks. His loud sniffle, trying to get the runny snot back up into his nostrils, finally got Lisa to actually look at him, instead of just watching from the corner of her eyes.

She spoke with hesitancy. “ _I don’t want to presume_ -”

Dylan cut his mother off. “Your presumption would probably be right.”

Lisa reached over the grab her son’s damp hand. She gave it a squeeze and tried to send him a comforting smile when he looked over at her, tear marks staining his cheeks and redness overwhelming his eyes. “Do you want to sit here for a little while longer?” Dylan scrunched up his face, looked down at his shoes and nodded. Lisa nodded too, even though he wasn’t looking at her. They sat in the theater in silence for only a minute, before she spoke again. “I liked her, a lot.”

“ _I know._ ”

“She was smart and sweet and you two had a lot in common, and Julia still has not stopped hanging out with her, or said a bad word about her, but Y/n broke up with you and you got back together with Britt,  _so I don’t get_ …” Lisa paused, rephrasing what she was about to say. “I thought you  _wanted_  to be with Britt.”

Dylan stayed quiet for a long time. The theater workers came in and began sweeping up the upper levels of the theater, avoiding the lower half where Dylan and Lisa sat still. She glanced over at him, and saw the shame sweep across his face, as Dylan shook his head.

“What happened with you and Y/n? You haven’t even told Jules.” Lisa asked, only for the second time since the break up.

Dylan sighed, put down the foot rest on his reclining seat, and sunk his head into his hands; keeping his mouth clear so that Lisa could hear him speak. “I think she sacrificed herself on the altar of my future.”

“What do you mean?” His mother asked, as she rubbed her hand gently and soothingly against his back.

“I had the offer for the movie, and I wanted the movie but I didn’t want the other stuff, but she pushed me away, and made my decision for me, and I didn’t go after her.”

“Were you two having trouble?” Lisa pushed for something more concrete than the vague answers her son was offering so far.

Dylan sat back in his chair again, and finally looked up at his mom. “She was having trouble with, the uh, romance stuff in  _The Affair_. I knew she was. I thought on screen relationships were just something she would get used to in time.”

“It’s quite the power differential, you know, Dyl.”

“What do you mean?” He narrowed his eyes at his mother’s face.

“Acting is a strange profession to those who aren’t in it. Can you imagine any other jobs where it’s okay to sort of, but not really, cheat on your significant other? That’s how she saw it, I’m sure.”

“And then I went and struggled with whether or not to take a movie where the love interest was my ex, and not only do I have to be with her in scenes, we are meant to act as a real life couple as well.”

“Are you acting?” Lisa asked.

Dylan seemed exasperated by this question. He huffed out a frustrated breath and dragged his hand over his puffy face. “ _No, Mom_ , Britt and I are actually back together.”

“Then why are you crying in a movie theater over Y/n?”

Dylan felt that pit in his throat again. He didn’t say anything for a minute or two, watching the theater workers begin to clean around them. He knew that they were going to be asked to leave soon. He finally looked up at his mother, feeling her gaze all through his silence.

“I miss her so much. I was in love with her.  _This_ ,” He pointed up to the screen that had been playing the movie. “all felt too familiar and real.” He paused again, a few tears escaping from his eyes again. “ _I think I was supposed to go after her, Mom_.”

Lisa sighed, it pained her to see either of her children in pain, but especially Dylan. He had always been the more sensitive of her two kids. “Listen, Dylan,  _look at me_.” He did, the suffering evident on his face. “You are an adult now and I can’t make your decisions for you anymore.”

“I know.” Dylan replied, a bit of melancholy in his voice; nostalgic for a time when she could just easily tell him what was best for him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive Britt for what she did to you, but I am willing to move on if she’s the one you want to spend your life with.” Dylan couldn’t pry his eyes away from his mother’s face, living in anticipation of what she was building to. He knew she was building towards something. “Y/n seemed like she would’ve been a good addition to your life and our family, if that’s what you wanted instead. If you want to just focus on your career and making a movie with the man who made this movie, we support you with that too.”

“ _But_?”

Lisa leaned in. “The question you have to ask yourself is ’ _Britt, Y/n, or your movie with Luca, which one will be more of the one who got away?_ ’ Which one will give you too much regret to live with, if you don’t pursue it?”

* * *

* * *

* * *

“ **FIVE**!” The group yelled.

“ **FOUR**!” Britt wrapped her arms around Dylan’s waist and he smiled down at her.

“ **THREE**!”

“ **TWO**!” He finally began to chime in on the countdown.

“ **ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

It was nice and familiar and objectively a very good kiss, but something was off. He was pretty certain that he shouldn’t have been thinking about someone else while kissing his girlfriend. Dylan was also certain that he shouldn’t have been thinking about who someone else had kissed at midnight, or that he could text his sister to find out, since that other person was apparently supposed to be at Julia’s New Years Eve party back in Manhattan.

Most of all, he knew,  _with all certainty_ , that he shouldn’t be wishing  _he_  was the one at that party kissing that other person.

 _Dylan felt like a worse and worse person every passing day_.

“Hey, I’m gonna go outside for a smoke. I’ll be right back.” He whispered down to Britt, who was still wrapped around his waist, happily swaying back and forth against him.

“I’ll join you.” She volunteered, glancing up at him with a smile.

“No, no, it’s okay. I was going to call my parents and wish them a happy new year too. I’ll be right back.” The smile faded from her face, as Dylan rejected her offer. He wondered if she could tell he was lying. He couldn’t quite find it in him to care. 

Yet again,  _Dylan felt like a worse and worse person every passing moment_.

He glanced at all of Britt’s friends, who she had invited over to her house for the party, and sighed. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel happy for happy couples because he knew that he wasn’t part of one. This whole time he had been hoping that he’d just needed some time to get over you, that he’d feel the spark that made him fall for Britt in the first place again, and that this all wouldn’t just be for a movie, because as each agonizingly lonely day passed,  _picking his career over his heart felt like the dumbest thing he had ever done in his entire life_.

Dylan walked out the front door of Britt’s house and made a left. He fished his cigarettes and lighter out of his pocket, as he walked down the sidewalk and turned to go sit on a different block. He really just wanted to be alone for a few minutes. The familiar smoke filled his lungs and Dylan enjoyed having something to do with his hands, as he held the stick in between his thumb and middle finger. He had walked about two blocks away and found a sort of well lit, and quiet curb, and decided to sit. He flicked the ashes out onto the asphalt below his feet, stomping out the embers before they could blow away, because he would be damned if he started a massive wildfire in Los Angeles.

He quickly finished his first cigarette, and lit his second. Dylan then collapsed back into the grass between the curb and the sidewalk. It was dry and stiff and cold, and it felt nothing like it,  _but for some reason_ , his thoughts floated off to laying in the cold, semi-damp sand on Montauk Beach with you. He took a drag of his cigarette and smiled, thinking about your story about wanting to become a fish. You were the most endearing and thoughtful and randomly adorable person Dylan had ever met.  _He missed you_. Saddened wrinkles burrowed their way into Dylan’s forehead and he took an even deeper puff.

“ _I should’ve picked up weed._ ” He mumbled to himself, not getting the same kind of blankness and peace that he usually got from his cigarettes.

He couldn’t seem to shut his brain off. Was this really how he wanted to spend the next year of his life? Did he really want to spend it wishing he was alone and stoned, rather than with his girlfriend of seven years and lucid? Did he really want to be stuck feeling like he messed up? He was so filled with regret and ’ _what ifs?_ ’ that he worried that he would never be able to shake. 

 _Forget just 2018, was this really how Dylan wanted to spend the rest of his life?_  

Britt could make him happy. She had done it before. She had done it for years. She could give him a lot of what he wanted. But he wasn’t sure if he would ever actually trust her again, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be in love with her again. Regardless of the fact that he would be turning twenty-seven that year, he knew what you would tell him: ’ _fuck that, we’re still young. Don’t let society tell you we’re not. Stop settling._ ’

 _Fuck_ , he wished he was high. The last time he was, he had an entire conversation with you in his shower; trying to imagine all of the ways in which you would answer his questions or keep up the conversation. He’d even take pretend conversations with you at this point. It had been almost a month, and he just missed your voice.

He killed his second cigarette, then sat up to light his third. He figured he’d kill the rest of his pack before heading back to the party, where, hopefully, he could find some pot when he returned. He lit up his next, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He texted his parents, Posey, Hoech, and a couple of friends from home happy new year, and stared at your name for a few moments. He took a long drag and decided to close his messages. He swiped around on  _Reddit_  for a few minutes, then moved on to  _Twitter_ , but nothing was satisfying. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew that it wasn’t the best idea. But, he did it anyway.

Dylan opened the  _Instagram_  app on his iPhone and opened the secret and private handle that he had in order to keep up with his friends and family. He began scrolling through his feed until he found Julia’s handle, which he quickly clicked on. He could always count on his overly gregarious and sociable sister to take and post copious amounts of pictures. 

He began clicking on each to see what the party was like, and more importantly,  _who was there_. It only took him four pictures in to finally see your face. Dylan laughed at your shiny black velveteen dress and red lip;  _he knew you too well_. Your hair was slicked back into a high ponytail and your eyes were squeezed shut, little wrinkles painted at the ends, as you were clearly snapped mid-laughing fit. Your white teeth, contrasting with your deep red lip color, made you look stunning. 

Dylan, without much thought, ground the lit side of his cigarette into the cement, then held his phone with both of his big hands. He continued scrolling; you were in about five of the thirteen pictures that Julia had posted, and each one made his heart feel like it had started beating again after weeks of dormancy.

He looked over the pictures that you were in over and over and over again, drinking in the sight of you. He refreshed Julia’s page, just in case she had posted anything new since he first got on. But it was almost four in the morning on the East Coast and he assumed that the party had begun to die down, so those were likely the only pictures he was going to get, until he realized that there was a red and orange ring around Julia’s icon. She had posted to her  _Instagram_   _Story_. Dylan’s thumb quickly tapped on the circular picture and he waited for the story to load.

That’s when his heart nearly jumped into his throat. “ ** _HAPPY NEW YEAR!_** ” You, Sarah and Heather yelled in the video, before crumbling into a fit of giggles. Dylan felt saddened relief.  _God_ , it was just the most amazing thing in the world to be able to hear your voice again. You looked beautiful and happy and drunk and he watched the story seven more times. 

It was weirdly calming to see you smile. The kind of calm that Dylan had hoped to get from his cigarettes when he came outside, in the first place. He hated that you never used your  _Instagram_  because it meant that he would have to sustain himself off of the pictures from Julia’s for a while.

Dylan sighed, leaned back into the grass again, and stared up at the dark night sky, clutching his phone to his chest.

* * *

* * *

* * *

“Yea, I’ll talk to you when I get back to the hotel later…..  _Okay_ … Yea..  _you too_. Bye.” Dylan pressed the ‘end call’ button on his screen and locked his phone. He shoved it back in his pocket and took a long drag from his cigarette, outside of the press junket in South Korea.

“ _Britt_?” Ki Hong asked, in between puffs from his own cigarette. Dylan pursed his lips and nodded, letting the smoke escape through his nostrils. “So, what’d you two do last Saturday?”

It was only Thursday, but Dylan already couldn’t remember what he had done the weekend before. “What was Saturday?” He asked.

Ki Hong smirked and shook his head. “New Years Eve?”

Dylan nodded and rolled his eyes at himself. “Britt threw a party. It wasn’t..  _It was fine_.”

Ki Hong narrowed his eyes, took a long drag of his cigarette, then exhaled and began talking again. “I’m surprised you got back together.”

Dylan could always count on Ki Hong to be frank with him. He blew out the remainder of the smoke in his lungs and quirked his eyebrows up for a moment. “ _Yea_.. honestly, I kind of felt like I didn’t have a choice.”

“Because of the movie you’re in together?”

“ _Among other things_.” Dylan took a short drag. “I’m not sure it was even remotely the right thing to do anymore though.”

“I didn’t meet her, but the other girl you were dating-”

“ _Y/n._ ” Dylan reminded his friend of your name.

Ki Hong Lee, the young man who played Minho in The Maze Runner, with Dylan, nodded once. “The times that I talked to you over the summer, you seemed happy. You don’t seem that way now.”

“ _Yea_.” Dylan couldn’t honestly disagree.

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs: Mystery of Love & Visions of Gideon… listen with caution. Songs will break your heart in the most gorgeous way.


	22. New York Marriott East Side, Room 826

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan struggles to fulfill his obligation of attending the New York premiere of The Death Cure. Y/n is a masochist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in early December of 2017, right around the time that the new The Death Cure trailer came out while Dyl was in Brazil for CCXP. So, I had no idea what the premieres for TDC were like or when they were held, if at all. this was just my prediction of what could possibly be accurate for this alternate universe. (minus the biting incident, that was obviously added later) I have the NY premiere as January 15th, and then the movie was released on Friday, January 26th, but the reader sees it on the 25th because movies are always released the night before nowadays, at least in New York they are..

“How does this look? Should I go with the blue since you’re wearing gray?” Britt twirled around in the dress that she had just put on for his premiere. “ _ **Dylan**_?” She snapped her fingers and Dylan’s head finally whipped up at the repetitive sound. 

“ _What_?” He blinked at her frustrated face for a moment. “Oh, no,  _sorry_ , I was answering emails. The,  _uh_ , the pink looks nice. You look really nice.” He smiled lopsidedly, before looking back at his phone. 

Britt cringed at his barely there compliment. “I’m gonna try on the blue.” She said, before disappearing back into the bathroom. 

Dylan stared at Sarah’s Instagram, thanking your best friend for keeping it open to the public. He sighed at the pictures of you, Sarah, Collette, Julia, and a few other people, that he recognized from the summer and from Boston College, at a party in an enclosed rooftop bar up in Columbus Circle, a few nights before. 

He thought about how easy it would be to get from his hotel room to Penn Station, to then hop on an LIRR train and take it to Kew Gardens. He’d walk the seven blocks to your apartment and pray you were home; or at least that Maddie or Ryan were home. They might let him sit and wait in your room until you returned from wherever you were. 

He had a feeling, that if you knew that his New York City premiere of The Death Cure was that night, and you probably did since Julia was going, that you would most likely be home, avoiding the city. You had always said that Manhattan was like hell on earth because you were always prone to run into someone you didn’t want to see, at least twice a week; regardless of the fact that it was a city filled with millions of people. 

 _He_  was most likely the one that you didn’t want to see.

He wanted to see you though. 

He backtracked to Sarah’s Instagram. She had posted a picture of you making snow angels in Madison Square Park the day before. He sighed at how perfect you looked with your little red beanie and cozy navy blue coat. You were like a winter dream come true. 

He would get sued into oblivion if he skipped the premiere, but he was incredibly tempted to say ’ _fuck it_ ’ and rush out the door without another thought. His proximity to you had been leaving him breathless since he stepped off the plane at JFK and instinctively went to walk towards the AirTran to go to Jamaica Station, to go to you. He honestly began to do it, until Britt grabbed his hand and stopped him; it was only then that he was snapped back into his reality. 

Dylan knew he shouldn’t. He knew that he ran the risk of getting ashes, or even worse, a burn mark, on his suit, but he really couldn’t think of any other way to calm down. He grabbed his cigarettes off of his nightstand, grabbed his hotel room key, phone and wallet, then pulled his suit jacket on. 

“The blue looks good.” He told Britt, after he lightly rapped on the bathroom door. 

“Thanks. Am I running late?” She asked, looking for her phone on the counter, only to have it handed to her by the man doing her makeup. 

Dylan shook his head and sent her a halfhearted smile. “No, no, I’m just going to go downstairs and have a quick smoke. I’ll just meet you in the lobby when you’re ready." 

"Okay,  _I’ll_ -” Britt stopped talking when she realized that he hadn’t stayed long enough to hear her reply. The door shutting echoed through the spacious hotel room. 

* * *

Dylan did his usual red carpet smile, letting his eyes do more work than his lips. He sunk his hands in his pockets and felt stiff and uncomfortable about moving down a red carpet with Britt latched on to his side. He knew that them suddenly stepping out together publicly was part of the deal for the movie that they would start shooting in March, but he didn’t like it. It felt exploitive. He glanced over at Mary, his manager, and craved the cigarettes that he had stuck in her purse, as to avoid the outline in his suit. 

He was grateful when the photographers asked for some pictures of just him. He never thought he’d be comfortable with press photographers taking pictures of him, but at least this was a step up from how unbelievably on edge stepping out as a couple with Britt made Dylan. They had shut down half of 42nd Street, in Times Square, just for the red carpet, and there were hundreds of tourists and fans snapping pictures with their phones behind the press. He hated this. 

“ _Just hail a taxi, tell him to peel out, and get to Queens. That’s all you’d have to do._ ” He thought to himself. 

It wasn’t how fucked he’d be with the studio, or how hurt Britt would be that he had ditched her suddenly. What really kept Dylan from fleeing to your apartment was the fact that you didn’t want to see him. So, he continued down the red carpet, flash bulbs going off in his eyes.

* * *

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _I hate everything_. 

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Another fan try to bite you_?

 **Dylan O'Brien** : -____- 

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Too soon_?

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Considering it happened yesterday, yes_. 

**Dylan O'Brien** _: Now I hate you too._

**Julia O'Brien** :  _What’s wrong_?

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Aren’t you at the premiere_?

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Yea, I’m sitting in the back though so it’s fine_. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _And nothing. Forget it_.

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Whhhhhaaaaaaat’s wroooooooong_?

Dylan sighed. 

Having to say it out loud, or technically text it, made him feel stupid, but he had been feeling so miserable that he wasn’t really thinking about his future embarrassment when he texted his sister for some solace. 

She wouldn’t relent. She had already sent him four more texts, all with some version of ’ _what’s wrong?_ ’ since he stopped answering. 

He typed up the thing that sent him in a spiral. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Some fan on the autograph line was wearing a Yankees hat and she had y/h/c hair and I swear I thought it was Y/n for a second_

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _You thought Y/n was in Paris_?

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _For a second, yeah_.

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _I don’t know, I think I’m losing my mind_.

The typing bubble appeared and disappeared several times, as Dylan stared at his phone. He sighed heavily, locked the screen, and gripped it in his hand; blankly watching the scene in the movie where Thomas and Newt were rescuing Minho. His brain couldn’t even process what he was seeing though. 

All Dylan’s mind could focus on was the fading memory of you laughing when he came to pick you up for a day in Manhattan together, where he was wearing his black-on-black Mets hat and you were wearing your dark blue and white Yankees hat. His phone vibrated in his hand and Dylan unlocked it to read the text. 

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Well, she’s in New York_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Right_..

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _I had lunch with her this afternoon cause she was at her office_

Dylan succumbed to a moment of weakness that he had managed to avoid thus far. Seeing the girl who looked so much like you had really fucked with his head.

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _How is she_?

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _You told me not to tell you anything_

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _And the last time I did, you flipped out on me, threw up, avoided Britt the rest of the night and kind of ruined Christmas Eve with your drunken bullshit_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _I apologized a million times for that, Jules_.

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Just…. please tell me_. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _How is she_?

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Okay_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Did she know I was in town? Did you tell her_?

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _She didn’t ask, so no_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Right_. 

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Well, I’m glad she’s good._

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Do you want to know more_?

 _Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes_.

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _No, it’s okay. I asked you not to tell me anything_.

Knowing would lead to longing, and you didn’t want him anymore, so he had to stop yearning for you.

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Are you okay_?

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Yeah, I’m just gonna watch the movie now. I’ll talk to you later_.

 **Julia O'Brien** :  _Okay. Love you bro bro_

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Talk you later_.

* * *

* * *

* * *

You had just finished texting your best friend, John, back about how you were already in bed, in your pajamas, and that maybe you could rain check going out to the bar on Saturday night. You claimed that you were just too exhausted and that you were going to have to work a long day the next day, so you just weren’t in the mood. He accepted it and said goodnight. You knew he was just worried about you, and was trying to keep your mind off of the fact that  _The Death Cure_  came out the next day. 

He knew you well. 

You pushed the button on the arm of your chair and felt the seat recline underneath you. You readjusted your coat over you, like a blanket, took a sip of your soda, and grabbed your phone. It was almost nine-thirty, and your before midnight, early screening would be starting soon. You vowed that you would see it  _once_  and then _never again_ , and you were certainly not going to see it with one of your friends. 

You didn’t need to feel their eyes on you more than the screen, throughout. Not only would that be annoying and hovering, but it would feel wrong, since that was how Dylan and you used to watch movies together:  _you watching the screen, and him watching you_. 

You glanced around at the young girls and women, excitedly chattering throughout the theater. You cringed over the stuff that kids got to get away with these days that your parents wouldn’t have dreamed of letting you do when you were fourteen; they never would have let you go to a two hour movie, that started at nine-thirty, on a Thursday night with school the next day. You wished that you could feel their excitement, but mostly, you felt like vomiting. 

You weren’t one hundred percent sure why you felt compelled to do this. 

It was partly because you liked the first two movies a lot before you ever knew him. It was also because you got lucky enough to meet most of the cast at certain points while you and Dylan dated, and they were all so kind to you. Curiosity played a very large role in it, as well, but mostly, it was the reason that you couldn’t keep denying, that had brought you to the movie theater that night: 

_You missed him immensely._

Julia had posted two pictures, on Instagram, of him from Christmas, one with the O'Brien’s family dog, and one with her and him and their parents. You stared at those pictures for  _days_. 

Then she posted a picture of him, her and Collette from the New York premiere of the movie, ten days before. He looked so good with his wavy, long chocolate brown hair and his stubble and his fitted gray suit. It was sort of a joke you had with yourself that the only pictures you would allow yourself to look at of him were the ones that were shared by your actual mutual friends, regardless of the fact that if you simply typed his name into Google, Twitter, Tumblr, or even Instagram, itself, you would be met with thousands of results; all bearing his face. That fact made it that much more ridiculous about how much you missed his voice. You had heard it in  _The Death Cure_  trailer that played before  _The Last Jedi_ , but that was well over a month before, and you craved it in the depths of your aching heart. 

Again, you knew that if you really wanted to, you could simply YouTube hundreds of videos of him speaking in interviews, or you could watch  _Teen Wolf_  or  _American Assassin_. The possibilities were endless, really, but if you actively sought him out online, you would never get over him. 

So, you continued to deny yourself, until that night, as you sat in the theater, your heart fluttering with nerves as the lights dimmed and the first trailer began. 

* * *

You sat in the relatively empty subway car, heading home, and you stared at your phone. You replayed parts of the movie in your head, thinking about how spectacularly he had performed as Thomas and how phenomenal the movie was. You genuinely thought about texting him to tell him how amazing it all was and how hard he made you cry when Newt’s letter was read. 

You wanted to tell him how much the scenes with the train, the scenes that he had gotten injured filming originally, made you incredibly uncomfortable and made you want to hold him because you knew how much anxiety those scenes still gave him. 

You wanted to tell him how much hearing his voice and seeing his face made you miss him. 

But you did none of that. You shoved your phone into your coat pocket, and kept your head down, instead. 

You sat in silence, just trying not to cry. 

* * *

* * *

* * *

  
[Next chapter is the reader in a dress and Dylan crashing a gathering while dressed in a suit. Send me theories.](http://were-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com/ask)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes chapters have to be filler chapters.   
> oops.


	23. Austin F. Knowles Inc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dylan returns to New York.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is meant to take place between February 25th and February 27th. 
> 
> which is really fucking cold in New York. 
> 
> Also, if you're any of you are wondering what a 'yacht club' is, it's just a snotty fucking place where rich people keep their boats and like eat mediocre food and like suck each other off on the tennis courts and i really clearly don't hold any sort of resentments for those sorts of places :)

**Dylan O'Brien:** _Hey, you inside?_

**Julia O'Brien:** _Yea…_

**Julia O'Brien:** _Sitting in the chairs towards the middle of the room with Sarah, Heather, Col, and everyone else_

**Dylan O'Brien:** _She’s in there, right?_

**Julia O'Brien:** _Yea, she’s in the back talking to people_

**Julia O'Brien:** _You want me to walk in with you?_

**Julia O'Brien:** _Where are you?_

Dylan locked his iPhone and shoved it in his pocket. He had to do this alone; it would be weirder if his sister had to chaperone him into the room. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, in the lobby, and paused to adjust his tie and fix loose hairs. Movement from the corner of his eye brought his attention onto a couple who were leaving the room and were watching him primp in the mirror. His cheeks flushed slightly, and he softly nodded and politely smiled, as he passed by them to get to the door. 

Dylan walked in the room and instantly saw that it was packed; that made him happy and didn’t surprise him in the least. She was always a popular person, at least from what he knew.

He examined the room and clocked his sister and her friends, seated in a small circle, in nice fold up chairs in the center of the room. Julia began to get up to greet him, but Dylan smiled softly at her and waved her off, as he shook his head.

He really had to do this himself.

He continued searching the room. Towards the front, he saw people talking to your Dad and uncle. He also noted the dozen or so floral arrangements, of varying sizes and shapes, scattered throughout the room, filled with lilies and carnations. He looked the other way and finally saw you.

He could only see you from behind, but he knew that you looked breathtaking: knee length black dress, hair tucked behind your ear, the shortest pair of heels he had ever seen you wear, and your hands uncomfortably twisting against each other behind your back. You looked statuesque and strong, and he was just happy to be in the same room as you again. 

You were surrounded by older people, who kept lightly rubbing your upper back or patting you on the shoulder, and he knew that you were probably incredibly uncomfortable. He waited behind you, trying not to draw any attention to himself. He was happy to wait his turn. Until the conversation you were involved in ended, he continued looking around the room. He caught Julia and her friends staring and whispering, only to all quickly look away as soon as he saw them, and he rolled his eyes. He also realized that the large room was lined with poster board after poster board, filled with pictures. He made a mental reminder for himself to look at each one later.

Dylan shifted from one foot to the other for a few minutes, waiting for the conversation to end, but it just kept going.

He glanced around again, unsure if he should just interrupt or not, when he saw your older sister, across the room, involved in her own never-ending exchange. Maddie’s eyes connected with Dylan’s, and he shyly waved and sent her a lopsided smile. She returned his expression, excused herself from the group that she had been standing with, and made her way towards Dylan. She smiled and rubbed her hand on Dylan’s arm briefly, then interrupted the conversation you had been stuck in for too long now. She directed them away, giving him the opportunity that he had been waiting for.

You didn’t move or turn around, still unaware of his presence. You simply remained in place, staring at the picture board in front of you, which was no longer obscured by the people who had just left. Dylan glanced at the pictures and instantly saw one that was familiar. 

His heart beat hard and fast against his chest, and he suddenly felt like he was going to cry because you had felt compelled to include that picture. It was the picture of you, your grandmother and Dylan, in her living room, the day that they had met. He had never regretted ever letting you go more than he did in that very moment. He was also filled, down to his core, with regret that he hadn’t been there for you when it all went down.

He conjured up the courage to finally speak before someone else swooped in.

“I’m really glad I got to meet her.” He spoke lowly, and watched as you jumped a little in place, his close voice startling you.

You turned around quickly, immediately recognizing the voice that had just echoed into your ear. Your eyes were puffy, but white and sharp, and your make up was perfect. Dylan knew you had been crying, but it hadn’t been today. You were managing to keep it together, and he was honestly impressed. You didn’t say anything for a few long moments, simply awed that he was there. You nervously spun the simple, silver ring, on your middle finger, around, trying to give your hands something to do. You tasted the chapstick on your lips, as you wet them with your tongue, before you spoke finally.

“I’m glad you got to meet her too.” You sent him a lopsided smile, until your brow furrowed and your eyes began to turn red.

Dylan pulled you in quickly for a tight hug; like a basic instinct to comfort or soothe you. Mostly, it was the primacy of you being so close to him for the first time in months. He shut his eyes and leaned his cheek against the top of your head. Your hands snaked under his suit jacket and held him close against you, and you tried to keep from crying, and smearing your waterproof mascara onto his white shirt. He felt like his heart was being ripped in half because you trembled in his arms, but also because you smelled like you.

It was  _you_.

Your perfect, wonderful self was in his arms again, and it almost didn’t feel real.

“I’m so sorry. I know how much you loved her. I know how much you did for her.” Dylan whispered into the top of your head, just loud enough for you to hear it.

You pulled away finally, and Dylan felt like his heart went with you. He instantly missed your touch; it’s remnants stung into his flesh. You inhaled deeply and exhaled heavily, trying to compose yourself. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I don’t know where else I would be today.” He replied, shaking his head and staring deeply and honestly into your eyes.

You nodded and glanced down at the distance between your bodies, the somber look on your face not going away. “Julia told you?”

“As soon as it happened… I,  _uh_..” He paused for a moment, to turn and look at his sister. Fixed stares were quickly and not subtly averted and both you and Dylan noticed. “Wanna step into the hall for a breather?”

You nodded, as you looked up and finally reconnected with his tired looking amber eyes. You followed him quietly, your head watching his feet move, in front of you, out of the room where the open casket was held and loved ones milled about sadly, and into the hall where loveseats and benches adorned the lobby walls. He hovered near a small sofa, only sitting when you did. He waited in an awkward silence until he broke and tried to pick the conversation back up.

“So,  _yeah_ , Julia told me and.. I bought my plane ticket like two minutes later.” Dylan admitted.

You nodded, but your expression seemed glazed over. You were mostly staring, the bags under your eyes coming to revelation in the new lighting, despite the concealer that you had caked on to hide the dark semi-circles. 

Finally, you spoke. “You cut your hair." 

Your hand, apparently separate from any impulses coming from your brain, went up to finger the lightly gelled and shorter, purposefully messy haircut.

Dylan huffed out a barely there laugh, in surprise that that was what you had settled on saying to him. Eventually, he nodded, a lopsided smile adorning his lips, as he snuck glances at you, from under his eyelashes, still restyling his already stiff hair. He tried to contain the feral beating of his heart.

"The studio made me for  _The_ , uh,  _Death Cure_  premieres.”

“It looks good.” You admitted, softly, your fingers finally landing back in your lap. 

Your hand twitched away from your side for a moment, but Dylan saw it and he reached over to grab your delicate fingers in his. You let him, feeling more comfort in his soft left hand than in any of the words said to you in the past four days. 

“How are you?” You asked.

Dylan kept his eyes fixed on yours. “I’ve been okay. How are you..  _besides all this_..”

You shrugged. “I’ve been okay too.”

Dylan scooted forward a half inch and your hand instinctively went to grip his hand a little tighter, as if in the recesses of your mind, you were somehow afraid that he was preparing to get up and leave. “ _Just_  okay?” He asked, cocking his head to the side, the worry evident in his tone.

“I could ask the same for you, Dyl.” You replied quietly.

’ _Dyl_.’ A shot through the heart. 

He was reborn in your nickname.

You spoke again before he could come be remade completely. It wasn’t to him, however, it was to an older woman passing by. Your hands fell away from each other.

“Hi, Mrs. King.” You waved sheepishly, a half smile plastered onto your face. You spoke to the older woman for a few moments, not moving from your seat next to Dylan, until she stepped into the wake and left the two of you alone once again.

It was harder jumping back into the conversation the second time. There was always the ever-looming fear that you would be pulled away from him soon, called back to your duties of receiving guests that had come to pay their respects to your family. He racked his brain for something to say.

“The picture-”

“ _Hm_?” You tilted your head to the side, emoting your clear confusion.

Dylan stammered for a moment. He pointed back towards the room that the two of you had come out of mere minutes before. “The,  _uh_.. You used  _the_   _picture_.” You blinked at him. He continued, feeling the sweat begin to pool around his collar. “Of the three of us, from when I first met your grandmother..”

“ _Oh_ ,” You smiled, softly, suddenly, then nodded. “it was a nice memory.” You admitted, staring down at your hands, still turning the ring on your finger. A lengthy pause filled the space between the two of you, until you spoke again. 

“Are you  _really_  here?” You looked up, your face looking somber and furrowed, tired and soft.

Dylan didn’t quite understand. He reached his hand forward and, the most gentle and slow he had ever moved in his life, rested it over yours. “Of course I’m really here.”

You simply stared and nodded for a few moments. Dylan waited, rubbing his thumb in a steady motion over the bone jutting out from your wrist. You leaned forward after another moment, invading Dylan’s space so that you could whisper the next part. “Sometimes, I thought that I had,  _I don’t know_ , dreamt the whole thing. Just imagined it all.”

Dylan pressed his thumb a little firmer into your soft skin, wanting to remind you of how vital he truly was, how alive and tangible. He shook his head and lowered his voice. There was no one around to hear the conversation, but he was taking most of his cues from you that afternoon. “You didn’t.”

You nodded. “ _Obviously_.” A dry chuckle escape your lips, it was void of any real mirth or amusement, however. “It’s  _just_ ,” You broke the eye contact and leaned back against the back of the loveseat. You stared at the ceiling, blinking, churning your words over in your mind before they made their escape into the real world. “it’s weird having been with someone that occasionally pops up on a billboard.”

Dylan made an agreeable noise, but honestly, he couldn’t quite imagine it. Britt never quite ended up on billboards. For the most part, he could escape her if he wanted to.

“There was this one time,” You were staring at him again, and he was painfully aware. He wanted to shy away from your intense gaze, but he met it and held it and eventually, bathed in the attention. “I was at the bar for trivia, with everyone, and a commercial for  _American Assassin_  on DVD came on, like, four times throughout the night, and I know that other people saw me seeing it, and I know they saw it too, but no one reacted. No one said anything. No one was, like, ’ _Oh, look, your ex is on the TV again_.’ and I honestly, began to wonder if I had just made the whole thing up..” You paused and then laughed, joylessly once more. “If I had thought you were hot and just had, like, a mental break and fucking imagined the entire relationship.”

“You thought you were going crazy?” Dylan had leaned back as well, his cheek resting comfortably against the top of the back of the loveseat, his eyes set squarely on your face.

You shrugged, then broke the eye contact. You traded it for staring at your touching hands instead. You traced veins up under his cuffs. “Sometimes, I guess.  _I don’t know_. Maybe it was easier to think that none of it had ever happened.”

The comment cut Dylan a bit. 

There was a point in time, that he may  _still_  be living in, where you wanted to forget about him, pretend your relationship had never existed. Your soft fingers were the only thing grounding him away from getting lost in that train of thought.

“I guess, that picture sort of made that hard to fully embrace though.” Your fingers escaped from under his sleeve and pushed his hair in the way that it flowed, again. “You are  _very_   _much_   _hard_  to-” You paused and let your fingers scrape down the shorter sides of his hair, just above his ear. He pressed into your touch. The backs of your fingers finally came to stroke across his cheek. “ _I can’t believe you’re here_.” You repeated.

Dylan didn’t understand why you couldn’t seem to come to terms with his corporeal nature. He let his fingers run up towards your elbow, and his breathing grew slightly erratic and shallow over the familiar lines of your body. “I really, I wouldn’t have been anywhere else  _but_  here,” He paused, before adding. “ _for you_.”

“You don’t know how nice it is to see you.”

“ _I have an idea._ ” Dylan answered. He was startled away from you when a voice said your name loudly.

“Y/n,  _where_  - There you are.”

He watched you stand, and felt his fingers and cheek go cold, already missing your touch. He stood too.

The foreign voice completely invaded the moment. “Y/n, they’re going to-  _Oh_ ,  _sorry_.. hi, Dylan.”

Dylan glanced at the owner of the voice that interrupted his conversation and smiled halfheartedly. “Hi, Paige. I’m so sorry about your grandmother.” Dylan gave his condolences to your younger cousin, who he had met at the hospital back in July.

Paige smiled at him. “Thanks.  _Um_ , apparently they are going to ask us to sit down in a minute to start the prayer service. Your dad wants you to come sit up in the front with everyone else.”

You nodded, your hands dropping back to your sides, as you watched Paige walk away, and returned your gaze towards Dylan. “Are you sticking around New York for a couple days?”

Dylan nodded quickly. “I’ll stick around for as long as you want me to.”

You shut your eyes for a moment, turning your face up towards the ceiling lights, trying not to cry. All Dylan wanted was to cup your cheek with his hand and bring you close to him again. You could cry with him; he would be whatever support you needed. 

He just wanted the chance.

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes again, Dylan was quietly staring at you, his brow furrowed with concern. “Can you come to the funeral in a couple days then?”

Dylan nodded emphatically. “I was already planning on it with Jules…  _I mean_ , as long as you didn’t kick me out of  _this_.” He pointed back towards the room where the wake was going on without the two of you.

You shook your head. “I wouldn’t. It means…. I’m grateful that you’re here.” You smiled softly at him, and Dylan returned the gesture.

“Yeah, it was no problem.. honestly.”

You glanced behind Dylan to see that Maddie hadn’t sat down in the front of the room yet, so you knew you had another minute to speak with him. “Do you have work to do while you’re out here to or-”

Dylan shook his head and instinctively brought his hand up to your neck. Goosebumps covered your entire body at his intimate touch, and you felt your heart skip a full beat. “No, no.. I came here for  _this_ ,” Dylan paused, staring deep into your y/e/c eyes. He felt the need to remind you again. “ _for you_.”

“Hey…  _um_..” Maddie was suddenly at your side, nodding her head towards the front of the room. You and Dylan turned to see the priest talking to your dad and aunt and you knew you had to go. Dylan’s hand dropped into his pants pockets and he tried hard not to frown.

“I have to-” You gestured your head to the right, to the front of the room.

“I’ll talk to you more later.” Dylan smiled softly.

“Thank you for coming, Dyl.” You whispered, before turning to join your family.

Dylan sat with Julia and her friends, who all tried really hard to act like they hadn’t been watching and debating and discussing the entire exchange, and stared at the back of your head the whole time. He smiled when he could tell that you were leaning over and cracking jokes at the priest’s expense, during his speech, and he frowned when you hung your head. He wanted, more than anything, to be on the other side of you, holding your hand and bringing you comfort.

The back of the room would have to do for now.

* * *

* * *

Yet again, Dylan found himself wishing, above all else, that he could be sitting next to you in the wooden pew at the front of the church. 

You maintained yourself with dignity, formality and composure throughout the first half of the funeral mass, but then you got up to the lectern and delivered one of the most beautiful eulogies that Dylan had ever heard. He knew that you had poured your heart and soul into that homage to your grandmother and he knew that it probably tore you apart inside to have to deliver it to a packed church. Unlike the priests speech, yours veered away from religion and stuck with stories that she had told you over the years, or hilarious anecdotes of you and her from when you were older. You talked about how universally beloved she was and how dedicated to her family she had always been. The stories you told filled Dylan’s heart with love and contentment, and your smile made him smile.

All of that stoic behavior ended when the funeral did. 

Dylan white knuckled the back of the pew in front of him, in order to keep himself in place, as he watched you and Maddie holding each other up, while sobbing uncontrollably, when you followed the casket out of the church. You cried so hard, and it hit Dylan so brutally, that he honestly didn’t know if he’d be able to walk out of that church. 

It was agony to see you in such pain.

The ground was completely frozen over by late February, in New York; and the fact that it was flurrying that day didn’t help. The burial would happen once the ground thawed in the Spring. 

Dylan hoped that the ice between you and him would thaw by then too, so that he could be there for it…  _be there for you_. 

He just wanted to lace his fingers up with yours, help to hold you up, and keep you from sinking into the muddy, Springtime dirt. He wanted to be there come Spring. 

He had to be.

* * *

Dylan stood around with Julia, Heather and Sarah, awkwardly in a corner of the massive upstairs room of the Manhasset Bay Yacht Club, an hour after the funeral had ended. He liked the luncheons that occasionally preceded funerals because the family members seemed a little happier, they got to eat and drink a little and generally hear wonderful stories of their departed family member.

He wasn’t really listening to his sister or her friends talking to each other; he was merely standing near them. He kept his distance, but he always positioned himself in a way that allowed him to keep an eye on you, wherever you were in the room. He didn’t want to ever be far enough away that you couldn’t see him too. Your eyes continued to connect across the room, on and off, for at least forty minutes, but he was treating you like a gentle woodland creature that could be easily spooked.

All of this had to be on your terms.

Dylan finished his soda and left it on the table behind Sarah. When he looked back up to find you, he immediately saw you boring holes into his person. You smiled softly at the older man that you had been talking to, and patted his arm, as you walked away. You paused in the middle of the room, locked eyes with him in a prolonged stare, then turned towards the staircase. You walked away from the crowd and down to the first level, and he just knew that he had to follow you.

He didn’t run to catch up, nor did you slow down to let him; he simply followed you from a distance until you disappeared through a pair of heavy wooden doors. He cautiously opened one of the double doors and stuck his head in to examine the room that you had walked into. 

It was an empty dining room with canary yellow walls, a large fireplace and wooden sailing club flags hung around the crown molding. You sat in the middle of the room, at a tall wooden bar, speaking to a middle aged hispanic man who seemed to know who you were. Dylan stepped in and overheard the tail end of your conversation.

“… _vodka cranberry and a jack and coke_ …”

“You got it, Miss Y/L/N.” The man said, turning to fill the order.

“Thanks, Jose…. I just couldn’t be up there anymore.” You stared down at your hands, clasped together and resting on the wood grain of the counter.

Jose sent you a sympathetic smile, and placed the two beverages in front of you, then went back to cleaning glasses at the end of the bar.

Dylan simply sat next to you and watched you. Your left hand was gingerly holding your glass, and your body was leaned up against the edge of the bar, but you were staring off to your right, out the big, fogged up glass windows that overlooked the empty pool and the frozen Long Island Sound. 

Without looking, you slid the glass of whiskey and soda to your left, in front of where you knew Dylan was sitting, then brought your own drink up to your lips for a sip. Dylan followed suit, unable to peel his eyes off of you for even a moment. You were brought back into the moment when you heard the bottom of Dylan’s heavy glass connect with the wood surface of the counter.

You glanced over at him and resettled into your tall stool, then began drawing nonsensical lines into the condensation building on the outside of your glass. “You know, I had my first sip of alcohol here.”

“I didn’t know that.” Dylan replied. You simply nodded, staring at your glass still. “How old were you?” Dylan asked, quietly, hoping that you would let him see your eyes soon.

“Probably like nine.”

“That’s young.”

The corners of your mouth twitched up and you snorted softly. “It was an accident.”

You took a sip of your vodka cranberry, and then finally turned your body slightly towards the handsome man, in the all black suit next to you. He smiled in response to yours and you couldn’t seem to erase the look off of your face. He could tell that this was a happy memory.

“I think it was Easter Brunch… my Grandmother has belonged to this place since I can remember, and we always spent Easter Brunch here, but I remember sitting next to Gram and she ordered a Bloody Mary, and I asked her what it was and she made it sound delicious so I ordered the same, but she told me to say a ’ _Virgin Mary_ ’.”

“Even if it is tomato juice, I think the vodka part is generally frowned upon for nine year olds.” Dylan snickered, then took a sip of his drink.

“I think so too.” You turned your head towards him more, engaging him fully, while leaning against the bar. You tried very hard to not let your knees brush against his leg but you didn’t think it would be inappropriate to look at him like you were. “So, the waiter brought my drink finally and I took this big gulp and was like,  _‘I don’t think this is right_.’” You snickered, thinking back fondly on what happened next. “So, Grammy picked it up and took a sip and was like, ’ _This is the strongest Bloody Mary I have ever tasted in my life._ ’ Then she looked down at me, and kind of laughed. She said, ’ _Well, I guess you don’t like vodka, little one._ ’ and she flagged down the waiter and ordered me the correct drink, but the best part about it was that she wouldn’t let them take it back. She had two Bloody Mary’s sitting in front of her, and I don’t know. Maybe you had to be there, but as a kid, it was hilarious. She was so drunk on Easter Sunday because they accidentally served me the strongest breakfast cocktail known to man.”

Dylan laughed and smiled. “I bet it was hilarious.”

You nodded, turned back towards the bar and stared at the cocktail in your adult hands. “I don’t know,” You mumbled, no longer looking at Dylan. “it was just what I was thinking about.” You took a large sip of your drink and went back to your silent contemplation.

Dylan intervened after a few quiet minutes. “Are you okay?”

You took another sip of your vodka cranberry, hoping the effects of the one you had already had upstairs and this one that you were halfway through would start to take effect and imbue you with some much needed courage.

“ _How’s Britt_?”

You couldn’t keep the question to yourself any longer. Jose glanced up when he overheard your question. Anyone could tell by the tone of your voice and the question you had presented, what the conversation was suddenly about. He decided to give you some privacy, and moved to begin setting the tables throughout the dining room for the dinner crowd in a few hours.

“I don’t know.” Dylan answered, and you glanced at him from the corner of your eye. “I haven’t talked to her since the second week of January. I spoke with her after the New York Maze Runner premiere, and that was, what?  _January_..”

“Fifteenth.” You answered, and Dylan couldn’t help but smirk.

You had been keeping up with him.

“Well, then I haven’t talked to her in about six weeks.”

You killed the rest of your vodka, sucking on your teeth for a moment, as it burned down your throat, and then went back to staring at your glass, in your hands. “Well, that’s weird, considering she’s your  _girlfriend_.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Dylan replied, and you finally reconnected your eyes with his. “I broke up with her after the premiere. I thought it was probably not a good thing that I spent the day wanting to get on a train and go to your apartment.”

“ _Oh_..” It was all you could manage to say.

Dylan wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, so he kept talking out of nervousness. “This time it was for good. She wasn’t who I wanted to be with.”

“What about the movie?” You turned your body towards him and stared at him with concern.

Dylan smiled and ran his fingers through his shaggy chocolate brown hair. “I dropped out of the movie.” He shrugged and your mouth fell open slightly. “The studio was pissed. Mary was pissed… pretty much  _everyone_  was pissed, and I’ll probably never get to work with Luca Guadagnino ever again, but it just didn’t feel worth losing you over.”

You hesitated, allowing your brain to process the life altering news that he had just spouted out so casually. “ _What_?” You narrowed your eyes onto his hopeful, amber ones.

Dylan leaned forward slightly, encouraged when you did not move away. “Y/n….” The smile faded from his face, and he garnered a more serious look. “I was falling in love with you.  _So hard_.” He paused to collect himself, and glanced down at his hands, resting against the back of your stool and the edge of the counter in front of you. He had somewhat closed himself around you. “Leaving you because you asked me to was one of the hardest things I have ever done… Staying away was even harder.”

You sat in a stunned silence. Your body had moved itself forward slightly, and now the tops of your knees grazed the side of his thigh. Dylan took that as his cue. He dropped his hands into his lap and inched them forward towards yours, in your lap.

“I almost called so many times, and I swear to god, I wasn’t lying. I literally almost got on the subway and went to your apartment  when I was here for  _The Death Cure_  premiere.” Your hands grazed over his and your palms sunk gently into his. He was complete. “I miss you every single day.”

“ _Miss_?” You finally questioned his present tense.

“Miss.” Dylan confirmed with a nod. “You’re sitting in front of me and I  _still_  miss you. Losing you has been hell, Y/n. I swear, I-”

Your attention was drawn away when Jose’s manager stepped into the room. You didn’t want to get your old friend in trouble just because he was taking pity on you and he was fond of your grandmother. You waved them off and stepped down from your stool. “We should go. Jose was doing me a favor.”

“ _Oh_ , yeah.. Okay.” Dylan said, dismounting from his stool and glancing around. “Um, back upstairs?” He couldn’t help but sound incredibly defeated. He didn’t want to rejoin the crowd. He didn’t want to have this conversation cut off at the legs.

You shook your head. “Did you bring a coat?” Dylan nodded. “Let’s go get our coats. I need some air.” Dylan nodded again and followed you, closer this time. He thought about taking your hand again, but refrained.

 _This was too confusing_.

Dylan helped you put on your black wool coat and watched as you zipped up over your chin and mouth. He thought that you looked stunning in winter wear, although, he was guilty of thinking that you looked stunning literally always too. He buttoned up his gray wool coat and followed you outside onto the back patio. 

The wind was blowing small snowflakes around. The only real sound, besides your heels clacking against the slate stone path, was the breeze whipping the metal clasps on the rope of the flagpole, against the metal of the flagpole itself. The sun was dim behind the clouds and the trees were bare, but the Sound looked beautiful with it’s thin sheets of ice and lack of boats. He followed you to the covered dock, and leaned against the railing next to you. The gentle rocking of the water underneath the floating structure that the two of you were standing on was comforting, as Dylan waited for you to speak.

“I saw the movie.” You admitted quietly.

“You did?”

You nodded, staring down at the ice water below. “You were outstanding, honestly. I think everyone in the theater cried when you read Newt’s letter.” You let out a short huff. “I did, at least.”

He couldn’t pry his eyes off of you. He felt like tearing up. Did this mean that you never stopped caring too?

“Thank you, I-”

“I can’t believe you quit the movie. Does shit like that get you blacklisted in Hollywood or something?” You turned to look at him, a subtle anger on your face.

Dylan shook his head. “Not really, just with that director, I think. Maybe that studio, but it’ll be better with time, I hope. I’m looking for a job out here again.”

“In New York?” You questioned, the anger subsiding from your features.

Dylan nodded. “Yeah, I figured I have the apartment in Manhattan still, I might as well get what I’m paying for.” You nodded, and turned back towards the railing. You had no idea what to say, because mostly, this conversation was the two of you skirting around what he had said before you left the bar earlier. “How’s work for you?”

“I got a job with  _Politico_  about a month ago.”

“ **WHAT**!” Dylan couldn’t help but shout with excitement, and your head turned up to meet his happy gaze. “Y/n,  _Politico_ , Politico? As in, you got a writing job?” You nodded, a small, bashful smile curling up your mouth. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you!”

“I, um, kind of took a leave of absence though. I’m pretty sure it was the nicer way of saying, ’ _I quit for now, please give me my job back later_.’” You admitted, and the smile faded from his face.

“You  _quit_?  _Politico_? But, that was perfect for you, what happened?” Dylan stepped forward, as he spoke.

He hated that he was so behind in your life. Julia had really kept up with her side of the bargain to not update him on your life.

You stayed put again, allowing him to grow nearer to you; to begin closing you in against the railing, like he had against the bar before.

“ _This_  happened.” You gestured to the second floor of the massive white mansion behind you two, where the funeral luncheon was still going on.

“But, Y/n, she wouldn’t have wanted-”

“She left me money.” You interrupted him, and looked down. You were rubbing your dry, red hands together to keep them warm. “A lot of money, actually, but she left a sizable amount that had specific instructions to buy a plane ticket and go back to Vietnam, to finish the trip that I cut short because I came home to take care of her last summer.”

Dylan leaned in and tucked a piece of hair, that had blown out of place, back behind your ear. You leaned into his touch and he lingered; his cold thumb brushing against your ear and rosy cheeks. “When do you…?”

“I leave in two weeks, and I’m there for two weeks. Then I come home for her burial in April, and then I bought a ticket for Greece. I’m going to backpack through Europe for a few months.”

This time Dylan was the one who didn’t know what to say.

You were leaving him  _again_.

“ _Oh_.”

You pulled his hand off of your cheek, and held it in between yours, tucking it up into your sleeve slightly. The two of you stood in the freezing cold for a few silent minutes, before he spoke again.

“Julia told me on Christmas Eve that you were seeing someone.”

“It was one date,  _once_.” You replied, closing the gap between your bodies a little more.

Dylan paused for a moment, scared of what the answer to his next question might be. “So, you’re not dating anyone right now?”

You shook your head and stared longingly up into his perfectly hopeful eyes. “I had fallen in love with someone and I was not quite over it enough yet to date anyone else.”

Dylan looked pained. He cocked his head to the side and surveyed your expression. “Are you over it now?” Dylan pulled his now warm hand from in between yours and pressed it against your frozen cheek.

You shook your head and the whites of your eyes began to turn red. “ _No_.”

Dylan felt like he took a breath in for the first time in months. “ _Jesus fucking christ_ , I missed you." 

He frantically pulled you in for a hug, squeezing you tightly against him. Tears welled up in his eyes, as he pressed soft kisses against the top of your cold head. He hugged your shoulders and head against him, and you wrapped your arms around his waist, warmth filling both of your bodies at the closeness. 

"I know that it’s going to take some work to fix what I did, but I love you; it never went away. I just want to be with you.  _Please_.”

You pulled away from him and nodded, a few tear stains marking your cheeks. “I want that too.”

Dylan couldn’t help himself anymore. In one swift movement, his hands held your face and his lips crashed against yours. This kiss was like coming up for air after being held under water for months. It was like laying in soft grass at the end of May, when the sun was strong and the weather was finally warm again. It was like eating chicken noodle soup and having it clear your throat, after days of being sick. 

It was like floating.

Your hands gripped his wrists and you pushed your lips against his. He pulled you tightly against him, his hands now grabbing at the thick fabric of the back of your coat, and yours gripped at the tops of his shoulders, from behind. Your cheek was buried against his shoulder but he turned his head down so that he could keep feeling your lips move against his. The kiss was full of need and love and want. It was one that had been building up for months. 

It was arguably the best kiss of Dylan’s entire life.

You broke for air, your lips swollen and warm, and you leaned into him even more.

“Did you quit? You don’t smell like cigarette smoke anymore.”

Dylan laughed loudly, and looked down at your wondering gaze. “Yeah, I did. I’m on the gum and everything. I broke up with Britt and literally threw away my packs. I haven’t touched one since.”

“That’s good. The last thing I need is to lose  _you_  because of that shit one day.”

“You won’t. I promise.” He whispered, with a short snicker, before pressing a kiss into your hairline. “ _So_ , you fell in love with me?” You nodded against his chest, and he pressed his cheek down into your hair, still holding you against him. “I’m sorry I ever let you go.”

You stepped back, about to start explaining, but Dylan cut you off with a smile and a shake of his head. “It’s okay. We can talk about this tomorrow. Maybe you can come over and I can make you dinner?”

You nodded. “I’d like that.”

Dylan’s perfect pink lips curled up into a smile. “Should we head back inside? You’re shivering and in a dress and it’s snowing.” He laughed lightly and you smiled.

“On one condition.”

“ _Anything_.” He meant it.

“Stay by my side the rest of the day? I need you to get through the rest of this.”

Dylan leaned down to kiss you lightly on the lips. “ _I’m all yours_.”

You smiled up at the handsome man in front of you, and shook your head. “I can’t believe you came here for me.” You whispered.

Dylan let out a short huff, his breath showing in the air between the two of you. “I can’t believe you thought I would be anywhere else." 

He pulled your hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth to breath hot air onto your cold fingers, and began to lead you back up to the club. He turned to look at you, as you walked up the slate path, towards the giant white mansion and grinned.

” _What_?“

"You know, I almost texted you in early December, after the Giancarlo Stanton trade and told you to go fuck yourself.” Dylan began laughing, but your laughter drowned him out.

“Oh my god, you are such an asshole.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you’re happy, and you should bathe me in your praise, but you should also know that not everything is as simple as it seems…


	24. 302 Main Street, Port Washington

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days after the funeral, Dylan shows up at your front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IN LOVELY NEWS. My grandmother, the one this grandma is based on, turned 90 on April 7th and I went to some absurdly large party in the exact place where the last chapter took place. I got drunk af. it was dopeeee. so, no granny’s were harmed in the making of this story.

You stood in an actual silence for a moment, your mouth gaping open and incoherent attempts at the sounds of the beginnings of certain words scratchily escaping your throat.

Quietly, hopefully, nervously, Dylan decided to break the silence with a simple question. “Can I come in…?”

“How’d you get into the building?” You answered his question with a question of your own, still blocking the doorway, leaving him standing out in the hall.

Dylan wrung his hands together in front of him, a gesture born out of pure awkwardness and fear. “Um, I kind of waited downstairs, at the front door, for like, an hour or so, until someone came in and I told them that I was visiting my grandfather. It was a nice lady on the second floor that let me in." 

Dylan couldn’t help the oversharing. It kept him from asking again if you were going to let him in, with the fear that the next time you may just flat out reject him.

You stared at him, incredulously, blinking in a way that suggested that you didn’t quite believe that he was actually standing in front of you. ” _What_.. what are you doing here?“

Dylan sighed and shrugged, trying hard not to get exasperated with the fact that the two of you were still in doorway purgatory. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his mid-thigh, tan wool coat and gripped his phone and keys, needing something to ground him from his rapidly intensifying emotions. 

” _I_ -“ He paused and rolled his eyes slightly, mostly at himself, somewhat at the situation and barely at you, but also sort of at you. "I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.”

Dylan was about to get frustrated; he could feel it bubbling inside of him, but then he saw the puffy redness surrounding your eyes and he softened. He had to ask again. “ _Y/n_ , can I come in?”

You stared for a few long seconds again, but finally blinked, as if you were coming out of a fog, nodded and stepped out of the way. “Yeah, yeah,  _yes_. I’m sorry, yeah, come in.” You watched as he finally stepped inside, and you began to close the door, as he began to unbutton his coat. “I’m sorry, I’m.. I’m not running on,” You gestured in a circular motion around your head. “all legs or cylinders or.. or whatever the saying is… I haven’t slept much, and I’m just not all… you know….  _there_.”

Dylan felt a sharp pain in his chest at that rickety statement. He should’ve seen the signs of sleep depravation the moment you opened the door, but he was so busy being equal parts terrified of your rejection and equal parts giddy about being in your presence again, that he barely registered how exhausted you looked.

“It’s okay.” He mumbled, while stepping further into the apartment. Dylan glanced around the living room and draped his coat over the side of a chair. “It looks the same still.”

You watched him from the hallway still. He was handsome and tan and bathed in softening, late-winter light from the skylights in the living room. He looked like a dream. You quickly realized that he was staring at you, as well, waiting for you to say something in response. You shrugged, then shook your head, peeling your eyes off of him, in order to act nonchalant and stare at inanimate objects instead.

“Yeah, well, no one has come over to  _ransack_  this place yet. They’re all kind of waiting for me to move out first and, I don’t know, take what I want, I guess.”

“That’s nice of them.” Dylan commented, back to wringing his hands, nervously in front of his stomach.

You tried very hard not to get sucked into a trance of watching his sinewy, veiny, long hands folding elegantly over each other, over and over again. You needed to stay focused. “How’d you know I was here?”

Dylan stepped forward a single step, daring to be a little closer to you. He just wanted to be in your space a little more; feel your closeness a little more tangibly if he was about to admit heavy truths. 

“ _Um_ ,” He started. “when we broke up, I asked Julia not to tell me anything about you anymore, even if I asked. I figured it was going to be the only way I would get over you,” Dylan chuckled, humorlessly, and shook his head. You didn’t know what to make of that gesture, and you didn’t have time to dwell on it when he continued speaking. “but I finally asked her to break that two days ago, after the funeral, and she told me that you had moved in here in the first week of December when she really got sick.”

“Oh.” Your brain  _really_  wasn’t firing on any cylinders at this point. It was borderline embarrassing. “But how’d you know I was  _here_ ,  _right now_? Did you text me?” You went to go into a different room, but Dylan quickly spoke up, not wanting you out of his vicinity yet…  Or  _ever_.

“ **No**!” He yelped, and you stayed in place, in front of him. “No, I….” Dylan sighed.

 _Now or never_ …

“I went to your apartment… Your apartment with Maddie and Ryan, a couple hours ago, cause I just assumed that you had already moved back in, but Maddie said that you were still here, and she gave me the address, cause I couldn’t remember it exactly, and,” Dylan flopped his hands to his side. “so, here I am.”

“Oh.” You weren’t sure when you had turned into a broken record, but you were positive it was getting old for all involved parties.

Dylan squirmed. “Um, if you were busy though, if you want me to go, I can go. I didn’t mean to  _distu_ -”

You shook your hand in front of your body. “No, no, you’re fine. I mean,” You weren’t ready to be vulnerable, as much as your brain was separately willing to unleash every secret you had, just out of sheer inability to keep them in anymore without any sleep to keep your defenses up. “you can stay.”

Dylan tried to reign in his sickly sweet excitement over that invitation. The doubting side of his brain tried to remind him that you were more than likely just being polite to him. He decided to move the conversation away from whether or not he could keep hanging out. He glanced around the apartment again, then back at you.

“ _Cool_.. um, so, what were you up to?” He shoved his hands in his pockets.

You yawned and ruffled your hair, then turned and walked into a room that Dylan hadn’t been in before in the apartment. He followed. “I was packing my clothes back into my suitcase.”

You paused on the periphery of the center of the room. It looked like a disaster zone. There were piles of clothes littering the floor, near a half full suitcase. There were books haphazardly strewn about on the couch cushions, and the television was quietly playing some local news story about a big snowstorm that was promised to hit in a few days. When he glanced back at you, he realized that you were softly scratching at your scalp; a habit that he had noticed you only did when you were anxious.

Your voice drew him a step forward. “Actually, I was kind of just looking through her books and shit, trying to figure out what ones I wanted to take.” You turned and looked at Dylan finally, still gently pawing at the back of your head. “You know when you’re supposed to be doing one thing, but then suddenly, every other thing in the world becomes more interesting than that one thing you have to do, so you end up laying on piles of your clothes, on the floor, sifting through books about World War II?”

Dylan snickered. That entire tiny monologue was so quintessentially you. 

He missed you so god fucking damn much. 

He had to pull back from his first instinctual response to you speaking so normally and casually to him. He wanted to cup your cheek in his hand. He wanted to pull your hand away from your head. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms.

Instead, he smiled kindly and stayed put. “If you want, I can fold. I promise I’ve gotten much better than the last time you saw me do it, and that way you can keep looking through her stuff.”

Your hand dropped from your scalp to your shoulder, dipping below the collar to scratch at the opposite arm. You shook your head. “You don’t have to do that. I assume you didn’t come here to fold my clothes.”

Dylan shrugged, continued smiling, and walked past you. He sat amongst your piles of clothes, on the floor, and pulled at a shirt. “I’m here. Let me help.”

You watched him for a moment. He was already two shirts deep. He  _was_  better at it than you last remembered. 

“Thanks.” You whispered, softly, before walking towards the edge of the couch and gathering the books that were threatening to fall onto Dylan.

He tried not to react weirdly due to your sudden proximity. It was your leg, and it wasn’t even touching him.

He needed to get a fucking grip.

He watched, out of the corner of his eye, as you brought a stack over and curled up in a red leather club chair across the small room from him. “So have you been sleeping in here?” You nodded, glancing up from the book at the top of your stack. Dylan looked around. “Was there a bed that got moved out?”

You shook your head. “Pull out couch.” You motioned your chin toward the sofa behind him.

He nodded at that information. 

He had nothing else to say and you had already stuck your eyes back onto the pages in front of you. So, he just remained quiet. He tried to covertly watch your fingers, as they sifted through the pages of the old hardcover books with care. He tried to make it seem like he was solely focused on his folding, but the items in his hands smelled like you, and the aroma was making him a little dizzy with so many different kinds of want.

Several minutes passed before he glanced up. He didn’t hear the almost silent flipping of pages anymore. He saw you watching him. It made his skin grow red and hot under the scrutiny.

“Am I not folding these right?” He traded his looks between you and the stacks of clothing in front of him.

“What’re you doing here?” You blinked at him, holding your nimble fingers over the velvety fabric of the cover of a red book.

Dylan reached up and scratched at his stubble, while dropping his gaze solely onto the clothes on the floor. “I wanted to see you.” He mumbled.

You simply hummed in reply.

Dylan forced himself to make eye contact with you again. He forced himself to tell the truth. “I’ve been texting you and calling you.. You blew-” He paused and readjusted his back against the foot of the couch. “You,  _uh_ , were supposed to, you said you would come over for dinner the other day, and then you just stopped answering me, after the funeral.. like,  _at all_ , and-” Dylan sighed. “I’m just confused as to what happened…”

You watched him intently. Your y/e/c eyes tracing his every movement. He felt oddly exposed. “I meant to text you and cancel but I  _just_ …” You trailed off, shaking your head.

“ _Oh_.” Dylan’s stomach began turning. He was starting to feel unwelcome, like he shouldn’t have come. He should’ve taken the multiple hints.

He realized you were ignoring him.

An awkward pause followed, in which Dylan could feel you staring.

He began to push away the piles of clothes. He felt like an idiot. “I should probably go.”

“Why?” You asked, plainly, like you really didn’t understand, as he was halfway in the process of getting up from the ground.

Dylan froze and stared at your slightly tipped head. He wasn’t sure if he should sit back down or continue getting up. He decided to commit to standing. “I guess, I feel like I’m bothering you-”

“You’re not.” You cut him off.

“Oh.” He muttered again.

Fuck this.

He was so confused.

And frustrated.

Which was never a good combination for him.

He realized that he didn’t have very much to lose, since he didn’t have very much, at the moment, to begin with.

So, he spoke his truth. “It’s just, we had this  _moment_.. at the wake, and I spent the rest of the day of the funeral by your side, meeting, like,  _everyone_  in your family, talking to all your grandma’s friends with you and, like, holding your hand and kissing you and shit, and we talked and it felt like we  _were_ -” Dylan paused.

The more he said, the more he began overanalyzing every memory of those two days, in his head. Had he forced himself on you? Had he made it all up to suit his needs?

“ _Fuck_.” He grumbled. “I just,  _fuck_ ,  _Y/n_ , I don’t know what I thought. I thought you were coming over for dinner a few nights ago, and I thought you would’ve unblocked my _god damn number_  by now.”

You blinked at him. That new blankness was becoming increasingly old, very fast for Dylan.

“I unblocked your number in December.” You told him plainly.

“So then you’ve just been ignoring me the past five days.” He said it more like a statement and less like a question. He was convinced it was the truth.

“Not really.” You replied, flatly.

Dylan narrowed his eyes at you, and cocked his head back slightly. “ _Not really_? The fuck does that even mean? It’s either,  _yeah_ , you’ve been ghosting the fuck out of my dumb ass, or  _no_ , you’ve forgotten how phones and time work.”

You contorted your face in annoyance at him.

Finally, an emotion out of you.

Dylan would take it.

“Why the fuck are you yelling at me right now?”

“I’m not!” Dylan realized that his voice had been louder than he meant it to be. He took a breath. “I didn’t mean to, I  _just_ -” Another deeper breath. “I just am frustrated because I was hopeful with what had happened at the luncheon the other day and I was looking forward to seeing you again, and then I was let down because I hadn’t seen or heard from you and it felt like you were just blowing me off.” He rubbed his finger into his left eye, blurrying his vision of you, staring at him, a softer expression on your face now.

You hesitated, then whispered. “I’m sorry, I’ve just wanted to be alone since the funeral and I,” You shook your head and dropped his gaze. “I shouldn’t have just not answered. I’m sorry. I am.”

Now Dylan felt awful for a completely different reason. “I should leave you alone then. I’m sorry I came over and bothered you.”

“Could you stop saying that I want you to fucking  _leave_?” You snapped at him. Dylan jutted his head back in surprise. You glared. “My fucking grandmother  _died_ , Dylan. I hadn’t slept in days by the time her funeral came around. I hadn’t really eaten and I had been drinking. In all honesty, that entire day is sort of a daze. I was  _grieving_..” You paused, then raised your voice. “I am  _still_  grieving, and I’m literally in the middle of moving and, and you come over here and start yelling at me about how I’m, like, ignoring you or  _whatthefuckever_?” You shook your head. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, I truly am, but I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

Dylan was pissed, and on top of being pissed, he was embarrassed.

Never a winning combination.

What had happened at the funeral didn’t mean nearly as much to you as it did to him, clearly. He also, vaguely, began to feel like he had taken advantage of you. Of course you weren’t in your right mind. If he hadn’t been so singularly focused on his wants and needs, he would’ve been able to easily see that, in retrospect.

Dylan clung to the anger above all else, though. “Jesus fuckin-  _yeah_ , alright, you’re right. I shouldn’t have come here. I’m gonna go.”

This passive aggressive behavior was what finally got you out of your seat. “You’re really gonna fucking leave right now? Getting real good at that, huh, Dyl?”

Dylan stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t even made it out the door of the room the two of you were in. He turned, his blood boiling over just under his skin. He wanted so badly to explode. 

He barely managed to contain himself. “What.  _The fuck_. Is  _that_ supposed to mean?”

Your face was as red as his, but it had gone a bit softer. You realized you had taken it a step too far. You stood in silence, in front of the red leather club chair, staring at him.

Dylan huffed, frustratedly. “What do you  _want_  from me? Do you want me to  _stay_  or do you want me to  _go_? Do you want me to leave you alone or do you want to see me? Do you just wanna make me feel like  _shit_? Cause you’ve been doing a standup job of that this week.”

You remained silent again. Telling someone how you felt about them while they were yelling was not the easiest thing in the world.

“Alright,  _cool_. I’m gonna go.” Dylan pursed his lips, nodded his head once, and waved sarcastically.

“Stop.” You said loud enough that he could hear you. The venom was erased from your voice. Dylan stopped. “I didn’t ask you to leave. I don’t -” You paused, your head drooping. “I didn’t want to get into a fight with you. It was part of why I wasn’t answering you. I don’t have the energy to argue with you, right now, D.”

Dylan’s shoulders dropped and he took a deep breath. He was trying to come down from the adrenaline of his anger. It took several deep breaths in, but he was evening out. Now, he was mostly just filled with guilt.

“I didn’t mean to come here and yell at you, at all.  _Fuck_.” Dylan stepped forward, towards you, but stopped short of getting within arm’s length. “I’m just frustrated because I was so hopeful after the funeral, and you gotta admit, Y/n, those were some real  _mixed_   _god_ _damn_   _signals_  you were giving me.”

You sighed quietly and then whispered your reply. “I know.” You climbed over the piles of clothes and books and sat on the couch. Dylan took that as an invitation to follow, since you could’ve sat back down in the chair where he would not have been able to join you. “I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you, but discussing our break up and everything that then happened at the luncheon, it just felt like more than I could handle right now.”

“You could’ve just told me that.” Dylan sat facing you on the sofa. His tone had grown exponentially softer and kinder. He had angered himself out. “I would’ve understood. I just want to be here for you. That’s all I’ve wanted the whole time, Y/n.”

You deadpanned at Dylan, but your voice didn’t hold the same level of sarcasm and dryness that your expression did. “I know, but if you were around, do you  _really_  think we wouldn’t have gotten into a conversation about us and what the funeral meant and why we broke up and blah blah blah? I mean, look at what’s happened here. You’ve been here for, like, thirty minutes and we’re already yelling at each other about this shit.”

Dylan’s face was pensive. He nodded, then shrugged. “You’re right. I  _do_  want answers to all those questions, but I can be here today as a friend and just help you pack stuff up, and we can talk about all of this when you’re head is in a better place.”

You shook your head. “That’s so unfair to you, Dyl.” Dylan shrugged. “No, we - I -  _you_  deserve some answers.”

“Y/n, we really don’t have to do this right now.”

“ _No_ , we should.” You argued.

Dylan sighed, then capitulated to your whiplashing arguments. “Fine, where do we start?”

You leaned your head against the back of the couch and played with the edge of the pillow in between your two bodies. You felt tense and awkward. 

“The break up, I guess.” Dylan hummed in reluctant agreement. You sighed through your nostrils, quietly. “Not that I even know where to start with that.”

“I have a question.” Dylan said, quietly. You nodded twice. “The other day, at the luncheon, you said you had fallen in love with me. Was that true or just something you said?”

You frowned at Dylan. “I meant everything I said that day. Nothing was a lie. It’s not like I was plastered and don’t remember any of it or something. I was just decently drunk. I meant it all. I swear.” Dylan nodded once. You continued. “I’m just not sure, if under different circumstances, or a different headspace, if I would’ve told you all of it.”

Dylan hummed, contemplatively. “If you were in love with me, then why’d you break up with me?” Dylan prompted, his face deadly serious. “I realize that things maybe weren’t as good as they should’ve been, but why’d you let go without a fight?”

You shrugged your head forward on the couch cushion, closer to Dylan and let out a soft, ragged exhale. “Dyl,  _you’d_ -” You paused, finally looking up at him. “ _Okay_ , there were definitely times where I very much felt out of place in your world, and I absolutely should’ve said something earlier, but I didn’t, and that is fully on me.” Dylan nodded. “But it made all that shit with Mary not really liking me, and all the shit with your sex scenes on ’ _The Affair_ ’ and all the hiding of our relationship from the public, and then the lying about the smoking, - it all fucked with my head maybe a bit more than I led on.”

Dylan swallowed thickly. He had a lot of guilt for most of those things. “I really fucked up with Mary and the publicity and not just putting out a statement that Britt and I broke up and I was in a new relationship with you. I know I messed that one up. I won’t make that mistake a second time. I had the new management team put out a release the week after I dumped Britt saying that we were over. I just, going public with you never really made - I just didn’t want to ruin your anonymity.”

“I get that you didn’t. I always appreciated that. I love being able to walk down the street without being mobbed by people with rotten tomatoes because they’re mad that I’m dating you.”

Dylan smirked slightly. “I’ve literally  _never_  seen a person, in this century, with an actual rotten tomato.”

You smirked back, a little more clearly. “You get what I mean.”

Dylan nodded and scooted forward a hair. “I know, I know. I just, I don’t know. I wanted to protect you and that was the only way I knew how.”

You stared at Dylan for a few moments, your eyes heavy with consternation and contemplation. Dylan’s fingers flicked away from where they rested on his knee for a split second. His brain was fighting every single one of his body’s urges to reach out and touch. He wanted to so badly, but his hands were cold and shaky and clammy and you hadn’t given him permission, so he did his best to keep to himself.

But he saw the look on your face. He spoke lowly. “What is it?”

“I don’t want to lead you on, but I also don’t.. I don’t know how to say what I want to say without..” You groaned. “ _Fuck_. This is absurd.”

“ _Just_..” Dylan shook his head. “say it. Please.”

You started again, trying to keep your eyes squarely focused on Dylan’s Adam’s Apple protruding from his throat. It was easier than staring at his face. “I just, I don’t want to lead you on, but by saying that I don’t want to lead you on it sounds like I don’t know what I want from  _this_ ,” You gestured lightly between your two bodies, and finally made eye contact with Dylan again. “and I do know.  _I think I know_.”

Dylan blinked a few times. “I have no idea what you just said.”

You scoffed out a genuine laugh and couldn’t help the faint outline of a smile that crept up on your lips. You sighed. “I just don’t want to get ahead of the conversation, but _if we got back together_ ,” Dylan tried to school the excitement that surged through his body at the implication that that was what you wanted, from showing on his face. He had no idea if he failed miserably or not. You didn’t say anything either way, however. “I would just want it to be out in the open. I wouldn’t want to hide it again. I’m not ashamed of you and I’d hope you aren’t ashamed of me-”

“I"m not.” Dylan quickly piped up. “I never was. I never could be.”

You continued with a more solid smile. “And I just don’t want to have to deal with hiding and not getting to do certain things with you just because we might get caught as a couple. I always felt like I wasn’t allowed to be fully a part of a whole side of your life because I was a secret and that shit  _sucked_.”

Dylan nodded emphatically. “I swear, the whole thing was completely mishandled by me and Mary and my PR team and it will be done so differently next time. I was always proud to be with you and to be dating you, and you deserved to know that more clearly.”

You nodded and leaned your hand farther across the short expanse of the pillow between your bodies. You settled your fingers close to the middle. Dylan wondered if he should close the gap. He stared at the way your fingers picked at the embroidery on the face of the cushion. He was about to take the plunge when you spoke again.

“Thank you. I just, it was easy to feel like I was some life and career ruining secret to hide and it really fucked with my head.”

“I’m sorry.” Dylan said genuinely. “More than you know.”

You nodded, your eyes now fixated on his fingers curled up against his knee. “No, I know.”

Dylan took the opportunity of you not staring at his face to finally attach his fingers to yours. He let the pads of his long, bony fingers, brush against your nails. He felt the lightest he had in months at the feeling of your middle finger barely moving to caress his ring finger.

He desperately missed every single one of your touches.

“Are you gonna be okay if I ever took another role like ’ _The Affair’_?” Dylan asked, quietly.

You hummed in reply. “The first one is the worst, I imagine.” You glanced up to find him already staring back. “ _Right_?”

Dylan nodded. “I think probably.”

You shrugged. “Stay honest with me about what to expect and don’t accidentally fall in love with your costar and I mean, I’ll never love it, but I think I’ll probably be fine.”

Dylan nodded again and went back to focusing on your connected hands. He only looked up when you sucked in a big breath, it sounding like you were preparing yourself to speak again.

“Dylan, I think we-” You were suddenly cut off by the loud ringing of your cell phone. “ _Shit_.” You got up quickly and walked out of the room. 

Dylan could see you through the open doorway, your iPhone pressed to your ear, you pacing the kitchen, sliding your bare feet over the smooth terra cotta tile. “Y _eah, I’m okay, Uncle Tim. One of my friends came over to help me pack, I don’t think you need to send AJ over. I’ve got it handled._ ”

Dylan really didn’t like the sound of you calling him a ’ _friend_ ’. He wanted to be so much more than that again. Dylan pulled his phone out of his pants pocket to check the time, regardless of the clock in front of him. It was something to do with his hands. He shoved it back where he found it, ignoring the several missed texts from Julia, waiting to be answered on his lock screen.

You walked back in and made a quick appraisal of the room, before settling your gaze back on the man on your sofa. You remained silent, and standing at a distance.

“Is everything okay?” Dylan asked.

You pursed your lips. “Mhmm. Just my uncle seeing if my cousin needed to come over to help me pack things.”

Dylan nodded once, and you dropped your eyes to the piles of clothes and books and baubles laying around on the floor. Silence hung in the room until Dylan spoke up again.

“So, what were you about to say earlier?” His fingers nervously picked at the outside seam of his pants.

You shook your head and rubbed at your nose gently, before answering. “It was nothing. We should probably get back to packing things up.”

The moment had passed. Dylan nodded reluctantly. “Yeah, alright.”

He watched as you abandoned the books you had been sorting through earlier on the red leather club chair, in favor of disappearing into a walk in storage closet. He could just make out the outline of you moving through the space, when he decided to sink back onto the floor and continue folding your clothes up. He wanted to be helpful, and it gave him an excuse to stick around.

Helpful just wasn’t necessarily in the cards for him anymore, however. His head was swimming with the previous conversation and the way that your fingers were tentatively magnetized towards each other. He was proving to be utterly useless at packing.

He couldn’t stop staring at the shadow of you moving behind the ajar door. He couldn’t stop focusing on the sounds of you moving obviously heavy objects and quietly cussing to yourself.

Dylan finally got up from the floor and walked over to the closet, just in time to see you in the middle of precariously pulling a large storage bin down from a high shelf. 

He stepped in quickly, crowding you in the tight space. “Here, here, let me.” He insisted, pulling the clear plastic tub from your hands and tightening a better grip around the sides. “Where is this going?” He dared an obvious glance at you, fixing the hair out of your eyes.

“On top of that bright red foot locker in the hall.” You directed, following after Dylan, but stopping at the threshold of the closet, as he began to navigate the room. “It’s all of the family history stuff that my Grandmother worked on. It was explicitly handed down to me, probably cause I bugged her for it all so god damn often.” You smiled to yourself.

“That’s cool.” Dylan shouted behind him, as he dropped the tub where he was told and returned to the room only to hear what sounded like you attempting to get another too heavy storage bin down. He leapt over stacks of books and piles of clothes, and bounded back into the closet just as the next navy blue plastic container was falling. “Shit.” Dylan muttered as it clattered to the floor before he could intervene, spilling it’s contents of pictures.

Thousands and thousands of pictures splayed about their feet.

“ _Fuck_.” Dylan couldn’t help but hear how utterly defeated you sounded, as you dropped, carefully, to your knees and began clearing space on the carpet for you to sit and began reorganizing.

Dylan dropped down across from you to also sit amongst the piles of shuffled memories. He watched at you began trying to pick them up, attempting to keep them together with the batches they were developed in. Dylan followed suit.

He picked up a picture of you and Maddie smiling with plastic lobster bibs tied around your necks, as you sat next to each other, inclined towards one another, at a picnic table covered in what looked like tiny crabs. The sight made Dylan smile. He picked up a couple more, from the pile and looked at each to make sure that he was keeping like photos together.

He grabbed at the next one from the floor and his eye was immediately drawn to you, but this time, his mouth contorted into a frown. Dylan noted, instantaneously, the way that you were wound up tightly against a handsome young man that he did not recognize as a member of your family that he had ever met. He recognized Maddie and Ryan, AJ and Paige, and even what he thought may have been a distant cousin, Kayla, who he had met once when she came up to New York to visit you and Maddie.

Out of morbid curiosity, Dylan jutted the picture into your line of sight. “When was this?”

You pulled the picture out of his hand, gently, and smiled softly. “My dad and his siblings have this huge family reunion every summer with all their cousins and families down in Maryland, and we usually go, and that’s two years ago, I guess. But that’s me, Mads, Ry, Paige, AJ, and all of our second cousins.” You turned the picture back around and pointed at Kayla. “You actually met Kayla when she came up. It’s that side of the family.”

Dylan forced a smile and nodded once. “Which cousin is that?” He pointed vaguely towards the boy who’s side you were happily melting into.

You licked your lips once and glanced up at Dylan, before fixing your stare onto the photo. He almost missed the lightning quick check in glance. “Uh, not a cousin. Ex-boyfriend.” You began nonsensically shuffling through the photos in your hands. “That’s Mike.”

“ _Oh_.” Dylan managed to murmur.

So that was the ex-boyfriend.  _That_  was Mike. That was the guy that you dated all through college who had cheated on you and broke your heart.

That was the ex.

_That was the ex._

_The ex._

_Ex._

Dylan tried to suck in air. He didn’t know if he hated seeing you so happily in the arms of another man, or if he hated the fact that the word ’ _ex-boyfriend_ ’ coming off your lips hung so heavily in his chest.

He still fit into that category. He was no better than the boy in the picture. He was potentially as much a part of your past. He was still an ex-boyfriend of yours.

Dylan lost all restraint. “ _Y/n_ ,” He steeled himself from quitting in the middle of his sentence, the moment your eyes connected with his. “why’d you break up with me?”

You sighed, and thumbed heavily at the edges of the photographs in your hands. “ _Dylan_..”

“No, like, I  _know_  all the shit with Britt and me not telling you, and you finding out the way you did was  _so_  fucked up, and all the shit with Mary, I get that, but why didn’t you at least try to talk to me? You just pushed me away.”

’ _And you left._ ’ was what you thought about saying, for a split second, before backing away from that route. You sighed again, heavily and frustratedly. “There were so many reasons.”

Dylan scowled and scoffed. “Well,  _fuck_ , that definitely makes me feel better.”

You groaned and leaned back against a filing cabinet tucked away behind you, all while frustratedly scrubbing your hand over your face. “I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean that-” You stopped to groan again, now staring down at the pile of pictures between the two of you. “The big thing was the movie and Britt and me not wanting to fuck with your career and your opportunities.”

“You never were.” Dylan interjected.

“I kind of did though, didn’t I? You left a movie because of me.” You glanced at him.

“ _Yeah_ , and I got a dozen other scripts the next week. Scripts with characters written with me in mind. My career is fine.” Dylan argued, leaning forward.

You couldn’t take the confined space. You placed the stack of photographs in your hand, down on the floor and rose to your feet. You felt Dylan hot on your trail as you walked out of the closet, out of the room, and into the brightly lit living room. You settled in a chair, avoiding the couch because you needed some physical distance from him. This was not a conversation you were completely emotionally prepared to deal with.

Dylan sat on the edge of the coffee table, not wanting as much distance as you did. He picked at the dirt under his fingernails and tried to regulate his breathing. He could feel the tumult of emotions swirling inside of him. “You never seemed that into my career anyway.” He spoke lowly, admitting something that always bothered him a bit.

You coughed out a humorless laugh and shook your head. “That’s bullshit. I just didn’t want to fuck with it. I paid way more attention to it than I ever let on because I never wanted it to seem like your fame was why I was interested in you. I just wanted you to feel loved for you, not what you did or who you are in the public eye. I was absurdly proud of everything you did.”

“Wish you would’ve told me that.” Dylan muttered. 

He didn’t know why he was being so petulant and defensive and argumentative. What you had just said meant the world to him. He did wish he had always known that though.

He was just frustrated.

You sat in silence, staring at the top of his head, trying not to react to his agitated mumblings.

Dylan looked up, lips sealed in a tight line. “What else convinced you to break up with me?”

You sighed. “ _Dylan_ …”

“ _No_ ,” His voice went a little high pitched and hysterical. “tell me. I wanna know.”

You could feel the fight coming. “I don’t know. I guess, it occurred to me that you had been in a relationship for most of your twenties and you don’t really know what it’s like to be alone. I mean, it was a handful of months between when you and Britt broke up the first time and when we got together officially.”

“ _So_?” Dylan couldn’t even stop himself. 

It was like someone else had control of his body. He was just quietly seething over this conversation, these accusations. He wanted to stop. He couldn’t.

You leveled him with an unimpressed glare. “ _So_ , I just wanted to make sure that it was me that you wanted, not just a relationship or someone to replace Britt. I wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to regret jumping into something so quickly with me.”

“Did I ever make it seem like that was something that I felt? Like I was just trying to replace Britt?” Dylan glared back.

You groaned and got up from your chair, walking back to your makeshift bedroom. Dylan followed. You could feel his disgruntlement behind you. You could honestly, feel it in the air. “No, Dylan.” You muttered. “It was just a shitty anxiety I had. That’s my problem, not yours.” You sat back down on the couch, and felt relief when Dylan remained by the doorway.

“Was there anything  _good_  about our relationship? Am I just wasting my time right now?”

You furrowed your brow at him. He had asked why you had broken up with him. He wanted to know the reasons. You didn’t appreciate how much he was sniping at you for your honesty. “Of course there were good things about our relationship. There were so many good things. You made me absurdly happy, Dylan. Don’t act like you don’t know that.” You kept your voice even and detached, that was how you showed your frustration.

“ _Do I_  know that though?” Dylan shrugged his hands up. “I don’t think I know  _anything_  without you  _explicitly_  telling me, because I thought you were happy, I thought we were good and then you broke up with me, out of no where and you cut me off, and now that I’m trying to talk to you about it, you keep walking away.  _ **Why do you keep walking away from me**_?” His voice was raised and his heart was racing.

“ **Because you keep yelling at me**! You keep making me discuss things I don’t want to talk about. Why would I want to spend time with the person screeching at me?” You raised your voice to match.

“Fine.” Dylan leveled out. He was done. “ _Fucking_   _fine_. Fine. I’ll just go. You clearly want to be left alone.” He wanted you to argue more than anything in the world.

“ _Dylan_ …” You trailed off and shook your head for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

“ **What**? What, Y/n? Tell me.  _What_?” He snapped.

You furrowed your brow. “Yeah, maybe I  _do_  want to be left alone.”

Dylan couldn’t help the angry grimace that spread across his face. “ _Fine_.” With that, he turned on his heels and walked out of the room.

You sat up straight, staring at the door that he had just walked out of, listening to his footsteps as they hit the tile floor in the hallway, toward the front door. It was in that moment that you knew that if he walked out that front door; if you pushed him out and let him leave all over again, that this time you would be the one failing your heart.

“ **Wait**!” You shouted, as you scrambled to get to your feet and run after him.

Dylan was stopped by the front door, turned in place, doing as he was told; waiting.

He said nothing, simply brows raised and furrowed in between, pink lips parted, ready to speak but not willing to do so.

“I have a car now.”

Dylan couldn’t hide the confusion that spread across every inch of his face. “ _Okay_ …?”

“Come with me somewhere.”

The confusion burrowed into his frown lines and his nostrils flared in frustration. “You just said you wanted to be alone.” He gestured towards the room that you both had just come out of.

You hung your head, guilt pouring out of every pore on your body. You sighed, your shoulders slumped forward and your hands fiddling with each other in front of you, in an effort not to touch him. You shrugged, even though you knew that was a mildly cruel response. “I want to be alone-”

Dylan was now angry. “Y/n, you can’t-”

You cut him off with your soft words. “With you. I want to be alone with you there.” Your eyes finally connected with his honey brown ones and you saw the anger dissipate.

“Where do you wanna go?” He asked, shoving his hands in his pockets, in what you construed as an angry gesture, but was really just an effort to not grab your hands in his.

“My place…” Dylan looked surprised, and you realized how that sounded. “Not ’ _my place_ ’, like my apartment..  _My place_. The place I go and have been going since I could drive.”

Dylan was confused still, but a part of him understood that he should be moved. He let the corners of his mouth turn up slightly. “Put your shoes on then.”

You let out an amused huff and nodded, turning around to grab your favorite pair of slip ons from your makeshift bedroom. You came out with the same black wool coat from the funeral on your shoulders and keys dangling from your fingers. “Let’s go.”

He watched you lock the front door behind you and walk off. He followed you down a staircase that he did not notice, at the other end of the hallway, when he first came upstairs. Once you emerged from the stairwell, Dylan saw you unlock a cherry red BMW coup. He glanced around his shoulders to see if any one else was down in the parking lot of the building, trying to get into their car, but it was only the two of you. His eyes widened and he paused, as he saw you open up the door to the drivers side.

“You have a BMW now.” It was all he could manage to say.

You chuckled, amused by the complete confusion on his face. “It was hers. She left it to me because she thought I might need it…” You paused, before you rolled your head on your shoulders. “And everyone else in my family already has a car, so..” You shrugged and got in, shutting the door after you. You ducked your head under the windshield more and stared at Dylan, staring, stunned, at the car. You pressed the horn twice, just short beeps, and saw him startle. He quickly followed after and got in the passenger seat.

The drive was short and quiet, save for the air rushing through the open windows and the engine humming wildly every time you accelerated into a new gear. Dylan silently chuckled to himself. He knew that you would be trouble in this powerful car. He foresaw speeding tickets in your future and you shrugging your shoulders, simply saying, ’ _It was worth it_.’ as you paid the ticket online. 

He relaxed, as you stayed on a winding road, and the small town center of what he assumed was Port Washington, disappeared in the rear view mirror. Suddenly, trees grew up around the narrowing two lane road, and the houses dipped further away from the streets. The ones that he did see were extravagant, magnificent, gaudy and gigantic. The light was beginning to dim through the old trees and Dylan stared at the way the pink sun set against your face.

He hoped you’d keep him this time. He missed this. He missed feeling innately comfortable and close with another person. He missed it so much.

You slowed the car down and took a left turn, then slowed down even more, as Dylan noted a bend not too far ahead. He then saw a magnificent gray, cement turret with windows carved out in the shape of a cross, about halfway up the twenty foot tower. You noticed the confused and delighted gaping of his mouth and smiled, finally willing to break the silence that had enveloped the drive.

“You ever been to Hearst Mansion in Northern California?” Dylan nodded, and took full advantage at the opportunity to stare, unabashedly, at your face, as you came to a stop on the curve of the road. “The Hearst’s used to own this property, and the house that was where this one is now,” You pointed at an absurdly large mansion set back from the road and turrets. “was even bigger, even more palatial. It looked like a Gothic castle.”

“Thus the turrets..” Dylan surmised why you were telling him this.

You smiled and nodded. “Yeah, I guess they tore it down a long time ago and rebuilt a few ’ _smaller_ ’ houses on the land, but they kept the turrets.” You turned to look at him. “Pretty cool, right?”

Dylan smiled back and nodded. “Is this your place?” He could sort of make out a more open landscape through the dense trees ahead, on the tail end of the curve.

You bobbed your head back and forth. “Sort of.” You took your foot off the break and the car began to roll forward slowly. “Do me a favor?”

 _Anything_. “Sure.” Dylan tried to keep from sounding too eager.

“Close your eyes until I tell you to open them.” Your foot was back on the brake again.

A surge of nerves and excitement coursed through Dylan’s veins. He hoped that his face hadn’t noticeably reddened at the millions of possibilities that were running through his head. “Okay.”

He closed his eyes and then heard the engine open up more gently, as you went on driving. He tried hard not to peek. He had no idea what was going on, however. When you had told him to close his eyes, he thought that maybe you were going to kiss him, but then the car jolted forward in all its hard-to-contain German ferocity, and he was disappointed and confused.

 _Confused_ : a feeling he was becoming wholly acquainted with that day.

Dylan felt the car stop, heard you move the gear stick, and then felt the vehicle begin to move backwards, you silently muttering curse words under your breath. He wanted to look so badly.

He didn’t.

He heard you move the car into a new gear again, presumably ’ _Park_ ’, begin to shut the windows, and then turn the engine off altogether. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap, his lips drawn into a nervous line; just trying not to look stupid.

“You can open your eyes now.” You said softly, barely above a whisper.

Dylan did, and instead of looking out the windshield, at what he could tell was no longer a dense mess of trees, he stared at you, already watching him. Your cheeks grew pink and you demurely smiled, but you didn’t shy away from his gaze. He liked that you had been staring at him while his eyes were closed. He liked that you weren’t running from him, as he was obviously trying to know your face again. He liked that he brushed the side of your hand with his and you didn’t pull away. These felt like steps in the direction he wanted to be headed towards.

Dylan finally pried his eyes off of your form, and glanced out at the landscape in front of him. “ _Oh_ …” He paused, his instinct to get closer and see more taking over, as he placed his hand on the door handle and began to step out. “ _Wow_.” You heard him say, as you followed. Dylan flashed you a smile from over the hood of the car, as you both approached the street. “Are we allowed to be here?”

You smiled and scrunched your nose up. “Not necessarily. It’s sort of private property, but this is where the landscaping companies park their trucks when they work on this street so it’s where I park when I come here.” You explained, as you began climbing over tall beach grass and medium sized boulders.

“Wait…” Dylan began to put two and two together. “Is  _this_ …. we’re in Sands Point, aren’t we? This is  _your_   _place_.”

You smiled behind you, at him. It was okay that you were known by him, scary and vulnerable but oddly comforting. You watched him traverse the same path that you had just crossed to get down to the rocky beach. “Welcome to Half Moon Beach.” You swung your arms out at your sides, gesturing to the scene around you.

Dylan took it all in.

It was a sunny, early March day, and the air was still cold, but without the wind ripping off of the water, it was almost comfortable. He could tell that Spring was fast approaching because the rays from the sky were strong and warm against his face. The Long Island Sound stood still and quiet and ancient between where he planted his feet and where the skyline of New York City rose from the dirt.

Dylan felt like reaching out and touching it; it seemed close enough to do so. He immediately began wondering how the lights from the bridges and skyscrapers looked on the glassy water at night. He hoped that the two of you would stay long enough to find out. The tide was high and the smell of sea was minimal, which, if he remembered, upset you, but his nose appreciated the break. He shut his eyes and listened to distant seagulls squawking and the faint sound of water barely moving.

He had been to many beaches with you, but this one felt different. Half Moon felt calm and tranquil, quiet and important.

It lacked the thunderous presence of the Atlantic and the endless parade of other people walking by. He didn’t doubt for a second that he could spend hours on this beach and not see another person. He was certain that was part of why you came here.

He let his body feel heavy, and weigh himself down against the rocks under the soles of his shoes. He liked the way they were unmoving under his feet.

Only then did Dylan realize that you had walked off towards a jetty to his left. He saw you sitting in the sand, brushing the tiny grains off of your hands and off of your leggings, and he quickly plopped down next to you. “What’s the city to the right there?” Dylan used his curiosity as a way to make conversation. He pointed just to the right of the Manhattan skyline, on the other side of the Sound.

“New Rochelle.” You contorted your face slightly. “I assume, at least. I’m pretty sure.”

“Ah.” Dylan gave a firm, single nod, before pointing to the left of New York City. “And that bridge?” He knew which bridge it was; he grew up in the area too, but asking mundane, superficial questions was how he was comfortable getting you to talk in that moment.

“The Throgs Neck Bridge.”

Dylan nodded and hummed in agreement. “This place is kind of amazing.”

You didn’t turn, simply nodded and kept staring off at the brightening lights in the distance. The sun was getting low in the sky and the water was glowing pink and orange. Dylan observed the slightest curvature of your mouth. He wanted to press his lips to it, but he didn’t. Instead, Dylan wrapped his arms around his bent legs and tucked his chin on top of his knee, staring off in the same direction as you, but remained watching you from his peripherals.

You were much more fascinating than any magnificent skyline anyway.

It wasn’t so much your voice that startled him, after a few long minutes of shared silence, as much as it was your hand finally moving from your coat’s pocket and pointing off to a timed light in the distance. “Do you see that lighthouse?” You pointed towards the bridge that Dylan had asked about earlier.

Dylan squinted and made out the form of a small lighthouse in the distance. “Yeah.”

You shoved your hand back into your pocket, but your foot began drawing circles in the coarse sand in front of you. Dylan watched your face again, and nothing else; you watched your foot. “It’s called Execution Rocks Lighthouse.”

“That’s  _terrifying_.” Dylan interjected.

You glanced up at him with a chuckle, before you went back to moving sand and rocks around with your feet. “It’s built on this tiny island made out of jagged boulders and sea-worn dirt, and during the Revolutionary War, British soldiers would take colonists and colonial prisoners-of-war out in a rowboat, during low-tide, and they would chain them up to the rocks and then leave them, and the tide would come back in and drown them.”

“A very literal name for the lighthouse then.”

You snickered and nodded. “Memorable though.”

Dylan smiled. “Very.” He watched your face, and then suddenly, he felt a light pressure near his foot. He looked down and saw that you had stopped moving the earth around, and had settled your foot against the side of his foot. This was you reaching out, daring to be close, testing the metaphorical waters. He decided to ask a less superficial question. If you were trying, he could too. “Why’d you tell me that?”

You shrugged, staring absentmindedly at your connected limbs. “Thought you might find it interesting.”

“I did.” Dylan replied; trying and failing to fight off the feeling that was settling in the back of his mind. “You know so much about this area, I’m sure you’re a great guide to people you bring here.”

You chuckled flatly and shook your head. “I’m not.”

The feeling grew stronger, and Dylan gave up trying to fight it. “Have you ever brought anyone else here?”

You stared off at the setting sun, in front of you for long enough that Dylan wondered if you were ignoring him. You finally shook your head. “You’re the only person I’ve ever brought here.”

His chest swelled with joy. You brought him to your secret place. The place where you didn’t dare to bring another living soul.

Dylan realized how full of hubris he was to assume that he had known all of you before now. He wasn’t sure that he knew all of you because of Half Moon Beach, but you bringing him, and only him, there made him realize that you were offering a piece of yourself that you had never offered anyone else.

He was touched beyond words.

So, instead of words, Dylan moved his leg.

He brought it closer to yours, inching it carefully and slowly, not wanting to spook you. You remained still, letting the warmth from his long leg seep into your skin. You enjoyed the pressure and the closeness. You enjoyed that he was pushing your boundaries with the utmost care.

“How’d you find this place?” He asked, watching the skyline begin to truly pop against the darkening sky.

You watched the city lights with interest as well. “My grandma always lived around here and so I was somewhat familiar with the area, but my parents split up in high school, and I used to drive to kind of escape, and I kind of stumbled upon this place one night. That was like…” You paused to think for a moment. “almost ten years ago, I guess, and I’ve just been coming here ever since.” You paused again. “That dream about becoming a fish that I once told you about,” Dylan nodded, when you finally turned to look at him, see if he remembered what you were talking about. “it wasn’t a sleeping dream, it was like a  _wish_  that I’ve had, because if I was a fish, I could live right off of this beach and I’d always get to feel as," 

You sighed, pulling your hands out of your pockets and patting them against your knees nervously. You might as well have been literally gutting yourself like a fish for him right then. The vulnerability was overwhelming, but you didn’t stop yourself. There was no point in bringing him here and not telling full truths. 

"feel as, normal, or calm… or, I don’t know,  _me_ , I guess, as I do, when I’m here.”

Dylan couldn’t peel his eyes off of you. “You feel safe here.” It was less of a question and more of a confirmation, but you answered him all the same.

“Yeah, I do.”

Dylan did something daring. 

He reached his hand over and gently cupped it over yours. You stared at the way his veins made lines under his skin, and the way that his dark hair made lines over his skin. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you finally connected your eyes with his. 

“Do you still feel safe here?”

“ _Yes_.” You whispered.

Dylan was emboldened by the way that your hand turned and suddenly your cold palm was touching his warm palm. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I needed to think.” You admitted, after a long, long, contemplative pause.

“About what?”

You looked up at Dylan, fully connecting with his warm, caramel colored eyes. “Us.”

Dylan allowed himself the liberty of lacing his fingers in between yours; you allowed it too. He stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, while he decided what to say. He finally settled on, “What’ve you come up with so far.”

You let out a small huff, almost like a laugh but too dry to actually convey that you were genuinely amused over something. You watched your hands, as it was easier than staring in his deep, whiskey eyes. “I guess, I thought that if I was comfortable having you here, then I could trust you.”

Dylan was afraid to ask the obvious question. He was more afraid of not knowing the answer though. “Are you comfortable with me being here?”

You nodded slowly, but no words followed. Silence hung over the beach, now shrouded in the faint dusk light. Dylan knew you had something brewing on the tip of your tongue, so he waited. “I came here the night that she died, and I sat right here, and it was freezing.” You bobbed your head back and forth. “Actually, it was like ten below freezing, but I sat here for an hour typing up a text to you. I typed until well after I couldn’t feel my fingers anymore, and I finished the message and I read it a few times, until I deleted it and then just cried.”

Dylan furrowed his brow and tried to catch a glimpse of your face. He didn’t like this story. “What’d it say?”

You brought his hand up to your lips, opened your mouth and breathed hot air onto his freezing knuckles. Dylan felt a different kind of chill race up his spine. You kept his hand gently pressed against your lips, as you spoke.

“It was an apology.” You paused. “For pushing you away and still expecting you to come crawling back. I apologized for the lack of logic that that plan held. I apologized for if I had hurt you. I knew I had.” You shrugged, and finally moved your hands, bundled over his hand, back into your lap. Dylan pulled it into his instead, essentially pulling you closer to him. Your shoulders knocked together and you wondered if he wanted to hear more. He remained silent though, so you continued. “I… Uh, I don’t know. I apologized for not telling you sooner how lost I was feeling in your world.”

Dylan finally spoke up. “ _Lost_.” He repeated, like that word would haunt him for weeks to come. 

You looked up and realized he had been watching you. You felt naked and raw under his quizzical gaze, but you nodded nonetheless. “I felt so out of place… like an intruder or a voyeur or something.”

Dylan’s brow furrowed and the skin between them wrinkled. You could tell there was a twinge of anger that he was holding back from you. You wished he wouldn’t. “I really don’t understand why you felt that way.”

“I’d follow you to those interviews and your press tours and premieres and I could tell that there were people there who didn’t want me there, and who were worried about what sort of impact I’d have on you and your career and those concerns became my concerns. Mary didn’t want me there, Britt didn’t want me there, your fans didn’t want me there-”

Dylan cut you off. “Stop.” Your head jerked up when his grip tightened around your hands. “Didn’t it matter that  _I_  wanted you there?”

You pulled your hands from his and buried your face in them, your knees coming up to your chest, putting you in an upright fetal position. “Of course that mattered.” You muttered, trying to keep the tears from flowing.

“And you still felt out of place anyway?”

You pulled your hands away from your face and turned to face him again. “I guess. I  _just_ … I didn’t understand where I fit into the whole picture. One morning you’re in my bed and your kissing me and your in my arms and I am falling in love with you, and then later that night, I’m watching you on a screen, in a movie theater, making out and proposing to some big boobed blonde girl.”

“You were jealous?” Dylan’s hand brushed up against your cheek, and his head dipped to get a better view of your face.

“Of course I was jealous.  _I’m human_. It’s not great watching the person you love be intimate with someone else. I struggled with it. Then, Britt kept being brought up and, I know you wanted to, but no one was refuting the fact that the two of you were not together anymore, and it fucked with my head. I didn’t understand why Mary wanted the two of you to be together still.” You nodded your head to the right. “I get it  _now_ , in retrospect, she was trying to make sure that you got the Luca Guadagnino film and she knew that the two of you being together made that more likely, and I know that her job is to make sure you are getting the roles you want, but,” You paused to shake your head. You didn’t know where you were taking this.

Dylan stepped in. “I let Mary get away with too much. She..  _discovered_  me. She got me all the jobs that I have had up to this point and I was afraid that I’d be unsuccessful without her help, but I gave her too much power over me." 

Dylan shook his head now, tracing lines in the sand between your legs, he slowly brought his hand next to your thigh, and simply let his arm rest against your leg. The weight seemed to comfort the both of you, so neither of you moved. 

"I’m sorry I let her get in your head and I’m sorry I let her get in between us and I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for us more. You deserved better than that.” Dylan waited for you to look at him. You eventually did. “I wouldn’t let it happen again.”

You believed him. “I’m sorry you let her go.”

Dylan shrugged. “I’m not. I think I had known I needed to move on soon anyway. I like my new manager and I’m booking roles so, it’s fine.”

Your hand left your lap and found the sand between your legs as well. Swirling patterns and small circles were left behind in the wake of your fingers, until Dylan softly brushed his hand against yours, and you finally reconnected. He brought your hands back into his lap and covered them with his right hand, which he had shoved back in his own coat pocket. There was something that he had to say.

He was afraid.

If he said this, it might all end.

He asked anyway.

“You know that I’m going to keep getting roles that give me a love interest, right?” You nodded, solemnly. “You know that,” He shied away from saying he loved you. It felt manipulative in that moment. He repeated himself. “you know that it’s just pretending. I don’t like doing it anymore than you like me doing it, but sometimes acting like I am intimate with someone else, on a camera, is part of what gets me the good roles.”

“I know that.”

The real dreaded question was next. There was no way to continue dancing around it.

“Is that going to be a problem? Like, one that we can’t get past?” You had referred to you and him as an ’ _us_ ’ earlier, so Dylan felt comfortable enough to refer to the two of you as a ’ _we_ ’. He stared at you, as his words turned over in your brain.

“It wasn’t an issue until it was your ex-girlfriend, who needed to be your girlfriend on and off screen.”

Dylan kind of felt like laughing at how dryly you responded. He bit it back though, not feeling like this was the correct time for laughter. “The only way that that ever happens again is if  _you_  became an actress.”

Your head whipped around and your eyes widened. It took Dylan twelve seconds to realize that he had inadvertently referred to you as his girlfriend. He waited for you to say something.

You didn’t.

He was grateful.

You sighed. “I’m still going back to Vietnam, and then the rest of that trip I told you about.”

“I figured.” Dylan answered, watching the worry that spread across your face. He wanted to tell you that he could come with you, but he didn’t want to push too much, too soon. Instead, he looked for a compromise. “I am going to be in Paris, shooting the  _American Assassin_ sequel, in August. Maybe I can, I don’t know.”

“Would you be able to come out a few weeks before and travel with me a bit?” You asked, swallowing both fear and pride.

Dylan couldn’t help the smile that crept up on his lips. He nodded. “ _Yeah_ …. Would you be able to stay in Paris for a bit?” He didn’t want to squash your spirit or your plans. “You could travel while I worked, but you could always come back to Paris like it was a home base or something, at least while I’m shooting there.”

You shrugged gently. “I always wanted to go to Normandy, see where my grandfather landed on D-Day.”

Dylan didn’t hold back his smile, but he tried to make it soft instead of toothy. “We could do that on weekends when I have off.” The toothiness came anyway. “I could take you to Champagne.”

You snickered. “That’d be nice.”

A silence fell over the two of you, when you both realized that you had been planning, but you still hadn’t discussed important matters. It was easier to talk about superficial things like travel and alcohol, than to discuss apologies and regrets.

Dylan also, finally, realized that it had gotten dark and cold. He looked out across the Sound and was proven right. The light from Manhattan’s skyline sparkled like suspended string lights in a breeze, and it danced on the glassy water.

Dylan sighed.

It was breathtaking and welcoming and overwhelming and it filled him with a sense of purpose, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. He had been feeling like he didn’t fit in anywhere since November; like no where was really home.

But he belonged here.

He felt it again. He fit perfectly in this space between you and New York City. Between you and the sand. Between you and the night sky and between you and the water. He quickly found the common thread.

He fit with you.

He squeezed your hand a little tighter. “This is honestly one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been to.” He whispered into the cold breeze.

You looked over at him, watching him watch the bustling city, made quiet by the distance and the plummeting temperature. “I’m glad I brought you here. I always wanted to.” You admitted.

Dylan liked, so much, looking over and seeing you already observing him. He liked even more that you had stopped shying away when you were caught doing it. He smiled softly at you, and you returned the gesture.

“I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you. I shouldn’t have let you push me away so easily.” You shook your head, but he had to get this out. “No, I am sorry. I’m sorry that I chose a movie over you. I’m sorry I chose anything over you.”

“ _Dyl_..”

He squeezed your hand again. He had been thinking about the day he saw ’ _Call Me By Your Name_ ’ for most of the afternoon. “My mom asked me what I would regret losing more, that movie or you, and it wasn’t even a question. There was no debate. I knew instantly, it was you. You were going to be the one who got away. You were the one that was a once in a lifetime opportunity.” Your hand was brought up to his lips for a short kiss. You felt like ice and Dylan knew that you two should leave soon. But he wanted to finish. “I fucked up, Y/n. I don’t wait for good movies. I read at least five good, new scripts every day.” He shook his head and stared you straight in the eyes. “I waited twenty-five years for you.”

Your heart swelled in your chest. You lost all words. You were only able to replay the last six in your head.

He had waited his entire life for you. He had waited his entire life for  _YOU_.

You felt the same exact way.

You had waited your entire life for  _him_. You only knew that once you met him, but you knew it. You had just been biding your time until you met him.

“I hope that doesn’t scare you.” Dylan dipped his head in order to get you to look at him again.

“It doesn’t.” You shook your head and he smiled gently.

“I am always going to chose you.” Dylan whispered, dropping eye contact because he was laying himself too bare, too vulnerable, too open for pain.

You didn’t let him down. “It’s been you since day one for me.” You admitted, squeezing his hand in yours, trying to get his attention this time.

He looked up again. “Do you think we fucked this up beyond repair?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Hope settled into Dylan’s chest. “Do.. Do you want to try to fix this?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Really?” He had to make sure.

You continued nodding. “I want to be with you…. I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you as well, Dylan.”

He brought your hands up to his lips to press kisses into your red and frozen knuckles again. “I promise I won’t walk away again, but you have to promise to tell me when something isn’t right, before it all builds up and it’s too late.”

“I will.” You agreed.

Dylan leaned down, pressing his forehead against his knees, while breathing hot air down onto your hands. “I can’t go through the pain of losing you again. I know what I have with you, Y/n, and I’m in this for the long-haul.”

Regardless of the fact that he whispered it into your fingers, you heard every word before the breeze floated each away in the abyss of the night.

You wondered if you would ever know the extent to which his suffering mirrored yours in the months you both were apart. The selfish part of you hoped it hurt just as bad, because that meant that he loved you just as much, but the part of you that was kind and put him first, hoped it was like a pin prick, painful for a moment, aching for a few moments after, but gone rather quick.

You leaned your head against the side of his, the closest the two of you had been since the day of the funeral. He moved his head so that his cheek rested against your forehead. The two of you remained like that for a few quiet minutes, warming each other and learning each other all over again.

There was one thing you didn’t have to relearn.

One thing that never went away.

You spoke it out loud so that he and the world would know.

Although, it was only he and the night sky who were listening.

With your forehead pressed to his cheek, you whispered, “I love you still.”

His cheek pressed further against your head, until it turned in a way that made you look up. Dylan dropped your hands in his lap and cupped your cheeks. His eyes switched between your eyes and your lips. Your breathing turned shallow, as you waited for what would come next. His thumb brushed across your cold cheekbone, like an ice skater on a frozen pond.

“I didn’t get to say this last time, but I felt it, and I never stopped feeling it.” Your brows raised slightly, anticipation reading all over your face. “I am completely in love with you.” Dylan paused a moment, waited for your eyes to close and for your mouth to relax, and he did what he had been thinking about since the day of the funeral.

He kissed you.

It was less passionate than the last kiss the two of you shared, less eager and unresolved.

This kiss felt like an understanding. It felt like an awakening. It felt like you were sealing your fate.

A fate that led to a life lived happily with Dylan by your side.

That was a fate that you wanted.

The two of you didn’t need the theatrics of a big reunion kiss. This wasn’t a movie. This was real life.

This was you and Dylan.

You pulled away, your fingers gently cupping his hands, over your cheeks. You leaned forward, resting your head in the crook of his neck. You felt the gentle kisses that he left on the back of your head, and you smiled at the way that his hand instinctively rubbed up and down your spine, trying to warm you up. You leaned back up, and connected your lips once again. The spark was still there, after all that time, it still lived in the space between the two of your lips.

Dylan pulled away and smiled. He looked sleepy and cold and content. “Can I take you somewhere for dinner?”

You nodded. “I’d like that.”

He pressed one last short kiss on your cheek and then pulled you up with him when he stood. The two of you, wrapped up in each others arms, gave the skyline one last look, before you walked back to the car, hand in hand.

* * *

* * *

* * *

okay, i’ll be honest, you’re about to get the happy ending you’ve all hounded me for. but it’s two weeks away,  _ **[so in the meantime, tell me your feels about this chapter](http://were-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com/ask)**_  and  ** _[then read this please :)](https://were-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com/post/172883438422/the-ties-that-bind-chapter-1-thomas-the)_**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing that I wanted to portray most in this chapter was just how not easy it is to jump back into a relationship that you’ve ended once. it requires a lot of anger and honesty and fear and getting hopes up and talking in circles. It’s never as easy as ‘i showed up to your grandma’s funeral, we kissed, now we’re good.’ It’s never that easy ever.


	25. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y/n returns from her trip to Asia to bury her grandmother and move forward into her future with Dylan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the final chapter. This is such a long time coming. I pretty much always knew that this was how I wanted this series to end. I am endlessly pleased that The Summer Fling is over and I can move on to other fics and I am endlessly grateful to every single one of you who have ever read, liked, reblogged, commented, yelled, cried, laughed, and just supported me and this silly idea about Dylan smoking that turned into a twenty-five chapter series, because what else would I do? I finished this for all of you. Thank you all so much

The ground had thawed by the first week of April, when you returned from your trip to Asia and the burial had been scheduled. Dylan showed up to your and Maddie’s apartment in a new, dark navy suit and mahogany wingtips. Ryan buzzed him up and unlocked the door.

Dylan was already a normal occurrence in all of yours, your friends, and your family’s daily lives again. It was a comfort to know that he had been welcomed back with open arms and minimal threats of bodily harm in regards to ever hurting you again. He laughed most of the threats off because he knew that he would never let you run away again.

You were it for him.

You were  _forever_.

Dylan stepped into the apartment to the sounds of Ryan shouting over Maddie’s hairdryer about the whereabouts of his belt. He caught no sight of you. He dipped into the kitchen to fill a glass of water and brought it into your bedroom without knocking. Your head shot up when you saw him.

You smiled.

Dylan’s heart liquified.

He smiled back.

“Dope suit, D.” You teased with a grin, as you got up to pull him into a ‘hello’ kiss.

Dylan snickered and shook his head. “Dope pajamas, Y/f/i. You gonna get dressed sometime soon?” He liked, so much, that the two of you were falling back into old, comfortable ribbing of each other, slowly but surely.

You glanced down at your sweats, as you climbed backwards into your bed, burying yourself under the covers again. “Eventually.” You muttered from behind your comforter, before dropping your gaze to the seemingly untouched glass of water in his beautifully long fingers. “You thirsty?”

Dylan glanced down at the glass, then back up to you. He stepped forward and handed the cup to you. “It’s for you.”

You smirked at the cold plastic cup in your hand. “Am I thirsty?”

Dylan snickered and shook his head, as he began taking his blazer off to hang on the hook on the back of your bedroom door. “You should drink it. You might cry later and then you’ll be dehydrated and end up with a headache and it’s going to be a long day. You don’t need that.” He toed his shoes off and climbed in the bed next to you, tucking his arm around your shoulders.

You leaned your head into him, holding the glass above the sheets, resting it on your knee. “You’re always thinking of me.”

Dylan pressed a long kiss onto the top of your head, then whispered his reply. “Literally always.”

You took a large gulp of the water and then rested your head back into the dip of his shoulder. “I really don’t want to go to this.” You admitted.

Dylan frowned. “I know.”

“I’m grateful you flew back in for this though.” You looked up at him, your eyes glistening slightly in the direct light streaming through your open blinds. “Honestly. I wouldn’t have wanted to do this day without you.”

Dylan smiled and leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips. His head was spinning at the reality that he was starting to become allowed to share small moments with you like that again. “I’m always going to be here when you need me.”

You nodded once and returned his barely there smile. “Yeah,” You whispered, as you nuzzled your face against his crisp, white shirt again.

* * *

The burial was both wholly heartwarming and deeply depressing. 

Dylan, again, was not at all surprised, but also completely endeared, by how many people showed up to celebrate your grandmother’s life and legacy. He held your hand throughout the entire ceremony, except for the part where you and the other grandkids stepped up to place white roses on the top of the chestnut brown casket. When you returned to his side, you slotted your fingers right in between his once again.

Dylan tried to keep from melting into the grass.

A small brunch, much smaller than the luncheon reception that followed the funeral, proceeded the burial. It was pretty much just family.

Dylan was invited.

That moved him beyond words. He was completely and utterly grateful as to how easily he was welcomed back into the fold. He sat between you and Paige and discussed trade secrets of Hollywood with your favorite cousin. Your hand sat in between his hands, in his lap, for the entirety of the meal.

He hated how happy he was on a day that was so solemn, but he simply couldn’t help himself.

The two of you spent the afternoon at a bar with Maddie and Ryan, Paige and AJ, watching baseball games and drinking. Dylan, the obvious choice for designated driver that day, drove everyone to their respective homes to sleep off the depressing day. He then went home himself.

* * *

When he approached the front door to his apartment, that night, to open it, the last thing Dylan expected was to see you on the other side, puffy eyed and droopy shouldered. His heart played tug-of-war between the dueling, visceral emotions of pure joy over you coming over to see him and complete sadness at the state of you.

You glanced up at him, pulling your backpack higher on your shoulder. “I tried napping. It only made me feel worse.” He frowned. “I just wanted to be with you tonight. Is that okay?”

Dylan allowed one side of his mouth to quirk up. He pulled the strap of your bag off your shoulder and stepped to the side to let you in. You waited a couple steps away, standing in the middle of the living room, waiting for him to lock his door again.

You watched his every move. 

He loved that too.

He was pretty sure he had never felt so honestly desired in his entire life. 

It was intoxicating to be wanted in the way in which you wanted him that night. He felt needed. He felt important. He felt like this was your way of making him feel permanent once again.

Dylan shut off the light above his front door and headed towards the kitchen. You remained standing in the middle of the living room, watching his movements. You heard the faucet open and water run, then you watched Dylan reenter the living room, grab the remote off the coffee table and shut off the television, loudly playing the most recent episode of ’ _The Bachelor_ ’.

Dylan stepped towards you, letting his broad hand cup the side of your head, as he leaned in to connect his lips with your forehead. Your body drifted into his touch. “Let’s get you into bed.”

You nodded and followed after him. “Can I borrow a shirt?”

“Yeah.” Dylan replied, shrugging your backpack onto the foot of his bed, as he crossed his room to grab a t-shirt out of his dresser. He turned and saw you pulling your toothbrush out of your bag, as you toed your shoes off, and he was overcome with a feeling of welcome nostalgia and earned hope.

He tried to nonchalantly ready himself for bed, while watching you sluggishly move about his room; laying out your outfit for the next day, brushing your teeth, peeling off your clothes and dressing yourself in his. He shut off the lights and slipped under the covers next to you, laying on his side, no longer attempting to be casual or sneaky in his need to look at you.

You laid on your side, facing him, with your chin tucked down towards your chest, and your forehead inclining towards his hands. Slowly and hesitantly, Dylan reached his hands forward, closing the gap, and began to stroke your face with his thumbs, palms, tips of his fingers. He slid this thumb against your forehead and browbone. He pressed his palm against your cheek. He stroked his fingertips across your cheekbone, down to your jawline, up over your lips, tracing the dip beneath your nose and the chapped feeling of your mouth.

The two of you had been spending a fair amount of time together. Evenings sitting close on the couch, speaking in low tones, afternoons huddled against one another, strolling around Manhattan with hands clasped together, mornings under blankets, stealing kisses that were freely given.

Despite all of that, Dylan still felt like you were a privilege that he had to regain. 

You had comfortably moved back into holding and hugging and cuddling and kissing, even sleepovers hadn’t been taken off the table.  He touched your skin like it was something that he had to retrace, relearn, over-explore, regardless of the fact that he was certain he knew every inch.

He knew every inch of the old you.

But the two of you had changed since you split.

There were new scars and new holes and new bumps and bruises. He was trying to understand which ones to press to remind you that although they hurt, they meant that you were alive, and which ones to just kiss, love, and leave be.

Your hands were caught in the front of his shirt.

The backs of his curled fingers fell against the hollow of your cheek, as his thumb stroked over the delicate bones in your face over and over and over and over. He spoke in a whisper.

“Did you have a dream or something?”

Your head barely moved side to side but he knew that you were shaking your head.

He pressed on the bruise again. You hadn’t winced yet. “Just couldn’t sleep then?“ He wanted to know what prompted you to show up at his front door.

You tilted your gaze up and locked eyes with Dylan. You stared for a few long moments, before you shut your eyes and leaned into his hold on your cheek. "I was just feeling kind of shitty and I missed you and,” You paused to shake your head softly. “I don’t know. Yeah, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Anything in particular making you feel shitty?” Dylan whispered, staring at the way that your eyelashes pressed against the edge of his finger.

You let out a small sigh, which was then quickly chased by a loud yawn. Dylan’s lips quirked up at the side. At least you were finally tired enough to maybe sleep. He slid a bit closer and felt warm at the way that your body inclined towards his even more.

“Just wanted to sleep with you tonight.” You finally answered, even though it wasn’t really an answer at all.

Dylan breathed out softly and let go of his line of questioning. If you had been ready to talk about what was truly bothering you, you would’ve talked about it with him already. He could safely assume it had to do with your grandmother being gone. 

“Okay.” He replied, before pressing his lips against your forehead.

A few minutes of silence passed, and Dylan wondered if you had fallen asleep, regardless of the consistent, gentle rub of his thumb against your hipbone and the back of your neck, but suddenly, you spoke in a soft whisper. “I hope these sleepovers haven’t sucked for you.”

Dylan furrowed his brow and leaned his chin further into the top of your head, on the pillow. “Why in the world would they suck for me?” He whispered back.

Your shrug pushed your shoulder into his breastbone, and your hands more into the tangles of the hem of his shirt. “I don’t know,” You hesitated for only a moment before you fisted the cotton of his shirt in your hand and breathed out heavily against his collar and neck. “I know we haven’t had sex since we got back together and last time, we very rarely slept together without having had sex first and I just hope-”

Dylan let out a small huff of humorless laughter. “I don’t mind. Honestly, Y/n. It’s fine.”

You finally unburied your face from the crook of Dylan’s neck and looked up at him in the dark of his bedroom. “I want to, I’m just not ready yet.”

Dylan leaned in for a sweet, short kiss on your velvety lips. His twitched up slightly. “No rush.”

You nodded and connected your eyes with his amber colored ones again. “I do want to, honestly.”

Dylan nodded in return. “I know. I do too.”

“But no rush?” You raised your eyebrows in concern.

Dylan kissed at the worry lines. “Yeah.” He pulled you close again. “Just to be clear, yeah, the sex is a treat, but I do love getting to just sleep with you again.” He clarified.

Dylan felt chills roll down his spine when your warm breath brushed against his exposed neck, as you snuggled back into a comfortable position next to him. You hummed and the vibrations shot through his body, down to his toes, they curled at the feeling. “Yeah, I love this too.”

* * *

* * *

When Dylan returned to his bedroom, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands, he noticed the bed was empty. He placed the cups down on his nightstand and went back into the kitchen for the waffles that he had heard pop up from the toaster. When he walked back in, eyes trained on the maple syrup dripping off the  _Eggo_  and onto the plate in his hand, before stuffing half of the breakfast treat into his mouth, he couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across his face.

You were back where, Dylan felt, you belonged: on the side of his bed that had been easily designated as your side, both hands soaking up the warmth radiating off of the ceramic edges of the mug, letting the steam waft up against your barely parted mouth. Your hair had been smoothed down and you had sunk back into his pillows with such effortless relaxation that Dylan almost missed the fact that you had made the bed, but pulled down the sheets on his side, silently inviting him back into your space.

“Did you bring napkins?” You murmured, with a hint of a grin over the small dribble of syrup dripping off his bottom lip onto his chin.

Dylan grinned. “Nah, I figured we could just lick it off each other.”

“ _Kinky_.” You replied with a smirk and a sarcastic raise of your eyebrows.

The two of you ate your breakfast in a comfortable silence, occasionally interrupted by small fits of laughter because of quiet jokes and quick remarks. Dylan rested the empty plate next to his half empty cup of coffee, then shifted a bit more under the warmth of the blankets.

He turned to watch you, already watching him, your hands still siphoning the warmth from the cup. “You have plans for today?”

You rested the mug in your lap and shook your head, now staring at the way your thumb wiped away any remnants of your chapstick off the rim. “My mom gets into LaGuardia late tonight and she’s here for the weekend so that she can see me before I leave for Europe, but I have nothing to do until Maddie and I go pick her up at ten-ish.” Dylan nodded and sunk under the covers a little more. “I meant to ask if you wanted to come to dinner with all of us tomorrow night.” You sputtered for a moment. “If you aren’t already busy.”

Dylan shook his head, smiled softly and snaked his hand under the safety of the sheets until it found the naked flesh of your thigh. “It’s pathetic how  _not_  busy I am until you leave for Europe.”

You smiled back and finally placed your mug on the coaster on the end table closest to your side of the bed. You sunk down below the covers, tugging them over your shoulders, and let your fingers stroke their way through the thick brown hair on his forearms. “So you’re busy once I leave?”

“Have to be.” You hummed out of curiosity. Dylan shrugged and dared his fingers to slip just under the hem of your shirt to rest below your ribs. “Gotta keep busy or else I’m gonna miss you way too much and just go insane.”

You wiggled closer and moved your hand up to his face. Your thumb traced over his closed eyelid and up to smooth down the bushy and unruly hair of his eyebrows. He sighed quietly at your gentle touch. The proximity was somehow overwhelming and dizzying and yet completely comfortable and calming. 

“It won’t be too horrible. You’ll be in Europe for two weeks for my birthday next month, and then we’ll be together when you are back to film  _American Assassin_  in France in August.”

Dylan kept his eyes closed, still relishing in the ways that your fingers skirted over his face, and couldn’t help the way that when he frowned slightly, and your fingers immediately went to trace the reaction, his lips reached out to kiss the pad of your thumb. You shifted towards him again at the gentle touch. His fingers sought more skin, higher up, between your shoulder blades. Dylan’s other arm was resting under your neck, his right hand tangled in your silky hair.

It was hard to talk about you being gone again when he had you wrapped up in his arms. It was hard to fathom the idea of letting you go for that long again, even if it wasn’t the same way as last time at all. He just didn’t want to be a part from you, not when things were still so unsteady.

Dylan didn’t want to talk about Europe anymore. “You said we were back together last night." 

His eyes remained closed. He didn’t want to see the expression on your face in response to his seemingly random change of topic. It wasn’t random for Dylan. He had been thinking about it non-stop since the words left your mouth the night before.

Silence followed, hanging in the air for what felt like forever. Dylan didn’t like the way his heart hammered in anticipation. He was paralyzed to speak again. He knew it was cruel to leave you to sort through the next step of defining your relationship again, but he was too afraid of the possibility of rejection by you again.

"Is that not what you want?” You whispered, and then Dylan felt the ghost of your fingertips trailing up a prominent vein on his neck.

He opened his eyes and saw your gaze cast down to where your fingers barely explored the boundaries of the cotton collar of his shirt. Dylan’s hand moved from between your shoulders, down your back, tucking you close to him again. He whispered, barely audible over the rain that was now sleeting against his bedroom windows. “That is  _absolutely_  what I want..” He hesitated when your y/e/c eyes bore into his own. “We just hadn’t discussed it yet.”

“I assumed.” ’ _That that was what you wanted too_.’ was what you didn’t say. “And I kind of just didn’t even want to have the conversation.”

Dylan couldn’t help the smirk the spread across his face, it morphed into a soft chuckle. “ _Uh_ , I don’t know if you noticed, but I didn’t really wanna have that conversation either.”

You leaned up and kissed him on the lips lightly. Before you could really pull away, Dylan chased your lips. You relished in the way his stubble brushed against your chin as his mouth whispered the word ’ _girlfriend_.’ once again.

* * *

* * *

Dylan turned over onto his back and winced.

“I caught that.” You glared down at him, sitting up against his headboard, glued to his side in his bed.

Dylan rolled his eyes and turned his head to face away from you, on his pillow. “I’m fine.”

“You’ll be better if you go to the doctor.” You pestered him.

“I’m gonna go after you leave. I don’t want to spend the next three days of you being home in bed because a doctor told me I’m sick and you won’t let me go out and do things with you.”

“We’ve already spent the last day in bed anyway. What would be the difference?” You ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head. He finally turned back to face you at the feeling of your gentle caress.

Dylan let out a shallow breath from his nostrils. “I’ll go after you leave.” His light brown eyes stared up into yours and,  _who were you kidding?_  It’s not like you could ever stay all that upset with him. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t feeling well and you would’ve probably been just as stubborn as him about spending the remainder of your time together taking antibiotics and eating chicken noodle soup.

Although, part of you wanting him to go to the doctor was so that they could tell Dylan that it was just a stomach bug and it wasn’t contagious and kissing would not make you sick.

For now,  _stomach viruses sucked for all parties involved_.

You sunk down next to him under the sheets, leaving yourself slightly propped up on your elbow. “If I find out you didn’t go to the doctor to see what’s wrong, I’m gonna fly home and kill you.”

Dylan raised his eyebrows and smirked, then shrugged just barely. “At least I’d get to see you again then.”

You leveled him with an unamused glare over his attempt at a guilt-burdening joke. “ _Ha_. You’re so funny.” You deadpanned.

Dylan began to snicker, before he abruptly stopped, sucked in a sharp breath with a hiss and grabbed at his side. “ _Fuck_. I’m so over this.”

You huffed out a frustrated breath and sat back up in bed. “Okay.” You leaned to turn the lamp on the end table back on, letting it illuminate the dark bedroom more than the television playing quietly in the background. “Fuck this.” You grabbed your laptop and opened it up in your lap. “You’ve been feeling crappy for almost two whole days now. We are Web MD'ing this shit.”

“ _Y/n_.” Dylan groaned quietly.

“Nope.” You glanced down at him with a serious look spread across your face. “Shut up and tell me your symptoms.”

Dylan smirked slightly. “I can’t shut up and also tell you something at the same time.”

“ _Dyl_.” You glared, but quickly allowed the glare to soften into something resembling concern. “I’m scared. You’ve been feeling so awful and you are not one to complain.”

Dylan did his best not to move his body, but did stretch his arm out to grip at your bare knee, under his blankets. “I’m fine, baby. You don’t have to be scared.”

You let out an exasperated sigh and leaned down to rub his chest with your fingers. “ _Please_. It’ll make me feel better when Google just tells me you have to fart or something.”

Dylan chuckled shallowly and smiled. “Fine.”

You opened Google and glanced down at Dylan. “Okay, you’ve vomited a bunch in the past day and haven’t really been able to keep anything down. Does your stomach still hurt?” Dylan nodded. “Does it hurt on one specific side?”

“No.” Dylan answered, still rubbing his thumb into your knee and shin.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You sure?” He nodded again. “Okay, well you’ve been grabbing at your right side more than anything else, so I’m gonna say ’ _lying to girlfriend_ ’ as one of the symptoms alongside with right side tenderness.”

Dylan groaned and slowly rolled onto his left side to face you more.

You continued. “You have been sleeping a bunch. You haven’t eaten much-”

“Because I’ve been throwing up.” Dylan interjected.

“Do you have a fever?” You plowed on, ignoring his interruptions.

“No.” Dylan answered quietly.

You pressed the back of your hand to his forehead anyway. “ _Dyl_.”

“That’s not fair. Your hands are always ice cold. You cannot tell whether or not I’m hotter with those icicles.” Dylan tried to reason with you.

“D, you are like a fucking furnace right now. Turned all the way up too. You are so hot.” You pressed the backs of your fingers against his forehead and cheeks. He closed his eyes.

“I’m really not. I’m fine.”

“Do you have a thermometer?” You asked, closing your laptop and beginning to climb out of his bed.

Dylan sighed. The look on your face had become more pensive, your forehead more littered with wrinkles. “Yeah, in the second drawer on the right under the sink.”

You padded through his bedroom, into his bathroom, and quickly emerged with the under-the-tongue thermometer. You leaned against his side of the bed and stuck it under his tongue, then waited for it to beep. When it did, you pulled it out of his mouth and saw the reading, your face growing even more alarmed.

“I have a fever, don’t I?” Dylan pulled the covers slightly more over his chest.

You wiped the hair away from his forehead and leaned down to kiss where your fingers had just touched. “You are burning up, Dyl. It’s 102.”

Dylan grimaced lightly. “That’s not ideal.”

You walked back around to your side of the bed, leaving the thermometer on your dresser, and climbed in next to Dylan. “Baby, I think you have the flu.”

“I thought flu season was over. It’s the middle of April.” Dylan tried to reason.

“Apparently it’s not over for you..” You hesitated, then pressed the back of your hand against his forehead again, as if to check if there had been any change in the past minute. Your cool touch sent chills down Dylan’s body. He winced. “This flu has been killing a lot of people.  _Please_  can we go to the doctor tomorrow?”

Dylan sighed and you watched as one of his large, beautiful hands emerged from under his blankets and rubbed down the side of his face, before catching your hand, resting on the top of his head. He brought your open palm up to his lips and pressed a long kiss into your hand. “Yeah, fine.” He mumbled, before glancing up at you with some worry lines of his own.

“Thank you.” You whispered, and Dylan smiled softly.

A couple of hours had passed, with a few innings of the Dodgers game having flown by, before Dylan complained again about how he was hungry and sick of being sick. You grabbed him some plain crackers, a gingerale, gatorade and some ibuprofen before shutting off the lights and settling in for a couple of episodes of ’ _The Handmaid’s Tale_ ’ before falling asleep.

* * *

“Y/n, Y/n, grab the bowl.” Dylan nudged frantically at your side, and you jumped into awareness quickly.

“What’s going on?” You tried to get your bearings.

“I’m gonn…  _Bowl_.” Dylan winced as he tried to get up.

“Shit.” You quickly swiped the clean plastic bowl off your nightstand and handed it to Dylan just in time to hear him wretch and cough.

A suffering groan escaped his throat, amplified by the echoing off the sides of the bowl, and you pressed gentle kisses into his shoulder and lovingly rubbed at his back.

You glanced at the clock. The two of you had only been asleep for about two hours. It was only just one in the morning.

Dylan heaved again and filled up the bowl with the remaining contents of his stomach, then he yelped in pain.

“Shit, shit.” He glanced up at you, worry wrinkles deeply burrowed into his skin. “It hurts.”

“More?” You asked, empathetic pain sounding in your voice easily.

Dylan nodded. “I think, shit, I think I need to go to the hospital.” He finally admitted before laying back against the pillows, the bowl of vomit still resting in his lap.

You felt like the life drained out of you at those words. You really hadn’t had a good track record with hospitals and your loved ones. The nerves settled in quickly, but you tried to maintain your calm. “Okay. Alright. I’m gonna call an ambulance, okay?” Dylan nodded faintly.

You got up and began looking for the jeans that you had worn to his apartment, laying on the floor, half sticking out from under his bed. You grabbed your bra and shirt off the chair in the corner and quickly began putting on your shoes.

“Can I empty this really quick?” You put your hand over his on the bowl. Dylan nodded, miserably. You came back after flushing the contents and rinsing it out in the sink. You placed the bowl on his nightstand and grabbed his favorite pair of gray sweats out of one of his drawers. “Do you need help?” You asked, handing him his sweats, a new, unsoaked from sweat, shirt and his favorite green and white Adidas.

“No. Did you call?” Dylan asked, as he tried to get dressed while moving as minimally as possible.

You nodded. “While I was cleaning out the bowl. They said they’d be here in seven minutes or so.”

Dylan let his eyebrows quirk up once. “Good thing I’m not dying.”

“ _Don’t_.” You scolded, not even wanting to entertain a joke about the possibility. Going to the hospital was not a joking matter, at least, not to you.

Dylan grimaced at how you responded to his attempt at lightening the mood, and continued getting the new, clean shirt on over his head, then leaned over to put on his shoes and groaned, throatily.

“I got you.” You whispered, as you bent over and helped him put on and tie up his shoes. You grabbed at what you thought might be necessary, as Dylan called down to the front desk of his building and let them know to let the EMT’s up.

Then, the room grew still and quiet. It was all just a matter of waiting. You didn’t like waiting.

You stared at Dylan, sitting on the edge of his tall, king sized bed, his feet just scraping the hardwood floors below. He looked pale and his hair was damp against his forehead with sweat, and he simply looked not himself.

“ _Hey_.” He whispered, finally catching your prolonged gaze.

You stayed put, fiddling with the phone in your hands. “I should try calling Julia again.”

Dylan shook his head and extended the hand that wasn’t pressing into his right side, out, open for you to grab. “Just call her when we get to the hospital. I’m sure I’ll be sitting around waiting for a while before they know anything.”

You looked down at your phone again, staring at the several unanswered texts to Dylan’s sister. “I should try your parents again too. I know it’s almost eleven there, they can’t possibly be asleep yet.”

“They could very well be asleep already.” Dylan answered, then he spoke with a little more clarity. “ _Hey_.” You finally looked up. “C'mere.” You locked your phone and pushed it into the back pocket of your jeans then finally stepped forward to take Dylan’s hand. “It’ll be okay.” He whispered, rubbing his thumb incessantly over the back of your knuckles. “I’m gonna be fine.” You nodded, but couldn’t bear to look at his face. This was bringing back too many traumatic memories.

The doorbell rang and the whirlwind began again. You called Julia three more times in the ambulance, then finally thought to call Julia’s girlfriend, who did answer her phone. You told her to meet the two of you at NYU Langone Medical Center in Midtown and she said she was already ordering an Uber.

Julia was a welcome sight in the waiting room when they shooed you away from Dylan after taking him away to run additional tests. You embraced your long time friend and sat down next to her.

“What’d they say?” Julia asked, leaning over the armrest to keep the conversation quiet.

You sighed. “They think it’s his appendix, but they’re making sure.”

“So, surgery then?”

“Probably.” You answered, your brow furrowed and your gaze fixed on your clasped hands in your lap.“Okay, I’m gonna call my parents again.”

You looked up with alarm. “Did you finally get a hold of them?”

Julia paused before walking out into the hall and turned around to face you. “Yeah, they’ve been waiting to hear from either you or I,” Julia paused as she began leaving the room. “Oh, and I told the nurse that you were Dylan’s sister too so that you wouldn’t be left out in the waiting room all night, so if they come out to update us, play along.”

You couldn’t help but smile at Julia’s thoughtfulness and willingness to include you as if you were family. You nodded. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right back.” Julia shook her phone in her hand, then walked out of the waiting area.

* * *

Several hours passed and Dylan’s parents had gotten on a plane, before the doctors and nurses began milling in and out of his room, around dawn, starting to prep him for his emergency appendectomy. Julia slept in the chair in the corner of his room, and you watched over him, as he tried to sleep, at his bedside. A page sounded outside, in the hall, for one of the nurses, and woke Dylan out of his shallow slumber. A small groan, as he shifted, darted your eyes up and on to his face.

“You okay?” Dylan nodded once and slowly lifted his left hand so that his knuckles grazed the side of your left cheekcheek. You cupped his hand in your own and pressed your lips to his fingers. “Are you in pain?”

Dylan shook his head. “Drugs are helping.” You nodded. “You okay?”

Your gaze averted at that question. The easy answer was ’ _no_.’ You were anything but okay.

Every person you ever loved who went into the hospital, didn’t come out, and you were always there. You felt cursed.

You didn’t want to curse Dylan, but you also couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving his side in that moment.

“What’s wrong?” Dylan whispered, gripping your hand tightly in his. You kept your eyes fixed on the corner of the sheets hanging off the side of his bed. “Y/n.” He said your name a little louder. You finally looked up, unable to hide the tears welling up along your lash lines. “ _Baby_..” Dylan pouted and freed his hand from yours in order to cup your cheek again.

“Just don’t have the best luck in hospitals.” You licked your lips and stared at the dark hair on his forearm, then closed your eyes. Your whole body felt heavy and fatigued. “Such bad luck that I feel like I shouldn’t even be here.”

Dylan let his hand drift to your jaw and neck, and guided your face back up to look at his. He looked serious. When he spoke, he sounded serious too. “Don’t leave.”

You nodded softly. “I’m not.” You felt the flood of emotions rip through you. The tears bubbled up in the pit of your throat. “I won’t.”

Dylan softened, and nodded. “Why are you crying? I’m gonna be fine, I promise.”

You let your eyes drift from his perfect, wonderful, loving face down to the hand that rested across his stomach. You stared at the needles, tubes and tape that were invading the veins and skin that you adored. You wiped a rogue tear off of your cheek and sniffled quietly, before finally letting your sights settle back on to his face. “I hate this.”

Dylan squeezed your hand in his. “I know. Come-”

“Mr. O'Brien, how are you feeling this morning? Get any sleep?” The doctor cut Dylan off mid sentence, as she walked into the room.

Dylan exhaled out of his nostrils in frustration. “A little.”

You wiped the tears off your face and took a deep breath, stepping back to compose yourself better. You saw that Julia was waking up as they had turned some of the overhead lights on in the room. You finally spoke up, and circled around to position yourself so that you could grip Dylan’s toes over the blankets. He mostly watched you with the semblance of a calm smile on his face. The doctor and nurse checked Dylan’s vitals, had him sign some forms and answered any remaining questions that the three of you had, then they left. Julia stepped out to call her parents and leave an update on their voicemail, and you made your way back to Dylan’s bedside.

Dylan took your hand and squeezed it again. He smiled a sweet, lopsided smirk and pulled you closer to the edge of his bed. “Wanna lay with me until they take me down?”

You nodded and let Dylan drag you further until your knees came up and you climbed next to him in his small hospital bed. You and Dylan settled into one another with an effortless ease that came with knowing the other one well. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck and settled your hand on his chest. Dylan resettled it under his, over his heart. Your breathing synced up and you felt his heart beat beneath your fingers and you could not banish a singular thought from your head.

 _You loved him. You loved him. You loved him. You loved him_.

The thought repeated in your head with every steady beat of his heart.

You loved him so much that it hurt.

It hurt because you didn’t know what you would ever do without him.

Dylan pressed a kiss into the side of your head, then whispered into your ear. “I swear I didn’t plan this to keep you here longer.”

You chuckled. Of course Dylan would be cracking jokes at a time like this. You playfully scoffed. “Just convenient timing, huh?”

Dylan snickered back, pressed another kiss to your temple, then spoke again, hushed against the quiet beeping of the machines hooked up to him. “Nah, you’ll still be on that plane in two days. I’m going to be so okay after this that you will absolutely be in Prague by Friday.”

You curled into him a bit more and shook your head. “I already called the airline and rebooked my flight.”

Dylan stiffened. “You did  _what_?”

You lifted your head slightly and glanced up. You’d seen him look happier. “I called a few hours ago when you were sleeping. I’m not gonna leave when you’re going through this.”

Now Dylan looked agitated. “Why? Why did you do that? This is minor surgery, not a big deal at all. I’ll be fine.”

You pulled back from him a bit and shrugged. “It’s still surgery and I don’t want to be a continent away two days after. This is where I wanted to be. Europe isn’t going anywhere, so neither am I.”

“Y/n.” Dylan narrowed his eyes.

You narrowed yours right back. “No.” You shook your head. “It’s final. It’s done. I’m staying.”

Dylan, incredulous and petulant, crossed his arms, best he could with an IV sticking into his right hand. “Well, I’m not going to let you take care of me, so you’ll have stayed for nothing.”

You cocked your head to the side and deadpanned at him. “I’m not sure you really have any choice here. I’m staying. I’m taking care of you. Get over it.”

Dylan honestly couldn’t help but snicker, then sigh, the semblance of a smile evident on his perfectly pink lips. “You really didn’t have to.”

You let the side of your mouth twitch up ever so slightly in return, but mostly, you stayed a little more somber, just as before. You shrugged. “I did. For me more than anyone.” Dylan reached for your hand and returned it back to rest on his chest again. You fell back against him and spoke softer. “I would’ve been miserable being away from you when something like this was happening.”

“I would’ve been miserable without you here.” Dylan pressed his lips into your forehead for the umpteenth time that hour.

You sighed quietly at the touch. “I know it’s just an appendix and it really isn’t a big deal, but it’s still emergency surgery and the doctor said your post op appointment will be in two weeks and then another week of taking it easy, so I rescheduled my flight to your flight and I’ll just go out to Europe when you were supposed to come out to visit me and I’ll start my trip then.”

Dylan smiled and pressed several more kisses against your skin. You cuddled closer. “Means you’ll be home for your birthday then.”

You nodded against his collarbone. “Yeah, maybe we can do something.”

Dylan snorted. “We’ll definitely do something.”

“Mr. O'Brien. We’re going to come to take you down in a few minutes if you want to say your goodbyes?” Dylan’s nurse, Tom, muttered as he knocked lightly on the doorframe.

Dylan forced a smile and nodded. Julia walked in behind the nurse and you let them have their moment, then Julia left to give you a few moments alone before they took Dylan to surgery.  

He tried to flash you a genuine smile, but you could tell it wasn’t in him. You stroked his cheek with your hand and gave him a knowing look. “I’m scared.” Dylan whispered. “Don’t really love hospitals after the accident.”

You nodded, and tried to choke down the tears. “I know. This will be a piece of cake in comparison though. You’ll be fine.”

Dylan nodded just as unconvincingly as you just had. “I know..” Dylan paused and stared down at the IV in his hand for a moment, before connecting his whiskey colored eyes with yours again. “I know we aren’t saying it yet but-”

“No, we are.” You interjected. “We definitely are, because I love you.” Your heart began thumping in your chest. The world melted away. The beeping of machines, the shuffling of feet, the sounds of the nurse talking to Julia outside of the door all faded into the ether. It was simply you and Dylan and nothing and no one else. You leaned in and spoke just above the brand new silence. “I am so in love with you, so don’t you dare leave me too.”

Dylan nodded and felt a few tears spill over his lashes and onto his cheeks. “I won’t.” He stroked your cheek and wiped away the tears that had spilled out for you as well. “I promise. I’m not ever leaving you.” You leaned down to kiss him, fierce and desperate. He kept his hand on the back of your neck, kept your forehead pressed against his. “I’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be quick and then I’ll be right back in this bed waiting for you.” Your throat burned with the way that you held back the rush of tears that wanted to escape. You slipped your face into his neck, breathing in his scent. He smelled like sweat and body wash and deodorant. He smelled so familiar and wonderful. “I love you so much. More than anything.” He whispered directly into your ear.

His voice made your breath shutter. “I love you too.” You whispered back.

Dylan cupped his hand from your neck, down to your jaw, wiping away tears with his palm, and guiding your head up so he could look at your face. He had to look at your face when he said it again. “I’m in love with you, Y/n. I have been for so long.”

You grimaced at the vile thought that popped through your head. You tried to smile the dark 'what if’ away. You nodded and stared into his perfect brown eyes. “Promise me you’ll come right back.”

Dylan pressed his thumb into your cheekbone. “I promise.”

You heard the squeak of sneakers out in the hall, more so, you heard the absence of them, then you heard the quiet knock. You didn’t turn. You raised your head slightly and wiped the tears off of your cheeks and chin, but you remained staring at Dylan. “Mr. O'Brien, it’s time to go.”

Dylan wiped a few tears off of his face and nodded once, still staring up at you. “Yeah, okay.”

You stayed in front of him until Julia stepped up to your side and linked her arm with yours. The two of you watched as the nurses wheeled Dylan out of the room and down to his surgery.

* * *

Hours and hours had passed. Dylan’s surgery went off without an issue.

The curse had been broken.

You got to keep him.

But you didn’t get to see him. It was around lunch time and the doctors still hadn’t brought him back to his room from the post-surgical recovery department. Dylan’s parents, Patrick and Lisa, had arrived a little after ten in the morning, well after Dylan had been taken down to surgery, and had finally sent you and Julia away from the waiting room. Sitting around, in eager anticipation of the doctor, with little to no sleep and high nerves had made the two of you irritable. Patrick shoved some money in Julia’s hand and sent the two of you away for lunch and coffee in the hospital cafeteria.

You were halfway through the world’s most bland chicken salad sandwich when Julia’s phone rang. It was Lisa with news that Dylan had finally been brought back to his room.

The two of you took off like rockets, running back to the sixth floor and his bedside.

Before you barreled into the room, Lisa popped her head out of the doorway with a pleased look on her face. “Jules, go.” Lisa waved her daughter past and Julia disappeared through the door.

Your heart suddenly sank when the realization washed over you: you weren’t actually a part of the O'Brien’s family, and this was a family affair. You didn’t think that Dylan’s parents were upset with you over the break up because Julia wasn’t upset with you and because Dylan had told you as much, but Julia was your friend and Dylan may have been telling a white lie to spare your feelings.

But Lisa continued smiling at you, gently resting her hand against your bicep. She nodded her head towards the room and smirked. “Give it a minute. You’ll hear him yelling for you again.”

The bitter regret was very quickly replaced with confusion. You furrowed your brow and glanced at the door, regardless of the fact that you were a couple steps back and couldn’t see inside. “What do you mean?”

Lisa snickered. “I thought I’d give Julia a couple of minutes with him, but according to the nurse, from the moment he woke up, Dylan has been asking for you.”

Your heart began to beat in double its normal pace. “Wait, really?”

Lisa nodded once and smiled genuinely. She rubbed her thumb against the sleeve of your sweatshirt, that was once Dylan’s sweatshirt. You wondered if she knew as much about the piece of clothing. “He’s a little woozy and loopy and out of it still. He thinks the two of you are still broken up so he’s been upset and demanding that we call you and fly you out to Los Angeles so that he can win you back.”

Your cheeks flushed a deep red. This was not exactly the conversation you wanted to have with your boyfriend’s mother now or ever. “Does he know what’s going on? Where he is?”

Lisa snickered and nodded. “Pat has explained, he’s just out of it. The doctor’s said that he’ll be less foggy in a couple of hours.”

“ _JULIA, JUST CALL HER!_ ” It wasn’t vicious, it was more on the whiney side, but it was definitely Dylan yelling at his family members.

Your eyes widened at Lisa, as she raised her palm to cover her eyes, while shaking her head. “I think Dylan’s had enough of his sister apparently.”

You nodded and followed her into the room.

Dylan’s face lit up when he saw you. “She’s here.” He looked at Julia with a sheepish look of gratitude. “You called her.”

Julia rolled her eyes and stared at her dad as if to say 'your son is a moron.’, then looked back at her younger brother. “Yeah, sure, I called her. I’m the best.” She deadpanned.

You snickered and smiled, then stepped closer to the foot of his bed. Dylan sighed and looked up at his dad, who was standing closer to his head. He didn’t attempt to whisper. “ _Dad_..” Dylan waved his hand fruitlessly, trying to get his father’s already rapt attention. “Dad.”

“Yeah, kid.” Patrick answered, leaning over the side of the bed.

Dylan sighed again. “I’m going to get her to forgive me and then I’m going to marry her.”

“Oh my god.” Julia groaned from the middle of the room, her palm immediately smacking her forehead.

You felt a blush rising up your neck as Mr. O'Brien leaned over and whispered again. “You know she can hear you, right, buddy?”

Dylan made a disagreeable grunt and shook his head incredulously. “No she can’t. She’s not actually here.”

Julia groaned, scrubbing her hand over her face. “Dylhole, you’re on drugs, Y/n is here and we’re all going to go now.” Julia shooed her parents out of the room, and suddenly, it was just you staring at Dylan in his hospital bed, a little paler than earlier, definitely droopy eyed, and with the same wires and needles sticking out of his skin, but it was Dylan, and he was fine.

You took a breath and began walking towards his bed. You plastered on as genuine a smile as you could muster, despite the hurricane of emotions still whipping around inside of your chest. The relief was overwhelming but more than anything, you just wanted Dylan out of the hospital already.

You stopped once you got to his bedside, and you ran your fingertips over the thick, dark hair on his left forearm. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.” Dylan answered honestly with a sneer, then he added, “And I miss you.”

You couldn’t help but smile, and drag your fingers up to the growing scruff on his cheek. “You don’t have to. I’m right here.” You leaned over and kissed his forehead. Dylan hummed. You whispered, inches from his face, “I’m really here. I promise.” Dylan whimpered at the way you moved your fingers into his hair, a guttural sound straight from his throat that caused physical pain to surge through your body. The hand that didn’t have the IV in it feebly wrapped around the inside of your elbow and you pressed your lips to his forehead. He sighed audibly. You leaned back, hand still moving through his hair, and you smiled softly. “Do you know what happened?”

Dylan nodded. “Mom said they took out my appendix.”

“Okay.” You nodded for a long moment, relieved that it really did seem to be the drugs messing with his head. “Okay, yeah. Your appendix was really inflamed and you were in a lot of pain so we came to the hospital.”

“We.” Dylan contemplated the word for a moment then looked up at you with his perfect big, expressive, amber eyes. “I didn’t dream it. We’re back together.”

You snickered quietly and nodded, finally sitting on the edge of his bed and moving your fingers down to scratch gently through his beard. “Wasn’t a dream. You’re really stuck with me.”

Dylan didn’t laugh at all at your joke. He furrowed his brow and wrapped his fingers around your thigh, then up to tug on the hem of his old sweatshirt. “I love you so much, Y/n.”

The hurricane of emotions raged on inside of you and you physically bit back the tears that continuously threatened to spill over. You loved him more than you could ever physically or verbally express. You loved him so much that sometimes you worried that your heart would literally burst. You wrapped one hand around Dylan’s, on your thigh, and the other under his jawline. You leaned in to kiss him on his forehead again.

Dylan squeezed your leg and whispered, as you sat back to look at him once more. “You’re my entire world, and the best thing that ever happened to me and I don’t ever want to lose you again.” Dylan slowly and carefully moved his hand to rest over yours on his jaw. “I just want to spend my life with you. The rest of it.”

You snickered softly. He was rambling and droopy eyed, but you knew he was telling his truth. You leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. He immediately responded and surged to meet your mouth. He moved too much, too fast and winced with a hiss.

“Shit.”

“Ow.” Dylan shut his eyes and leaned back onto his pillow. “Ow.” He repeated, in a more hushed and sleepy tone before letting a elongated and delirious groan escape his throat. “Get in bed please.”

You looked down at the space between the edge of the bed and his side and figured that if you laid on your side, you probably had enough room. “Stay still, okay?” You whispered. Dylan nodded, and you maneuvered yourself onto his hospital bed again, curled up against his side, your hand reaching down towards his hip, where his hand rested, to fill the gaps between his fingers.  

Dylan leaned his head towards where yours rested, on the edge of his pillow, and closed his eyes. “You should sleep.” You whispered.

Dylan nodded and squeezed at your hand. “You’ll stay here, right?” You watched his eyes snap back open, and suddenly the whiskey color was settled on you. “Don’t go.” His grip on your hand tightened even more.

You pressed a kiss against his shoulder and left your mouth hovering against his hospital gown. “I’m right here until they make me leave.”

Dylan sighed, sounding distinctly upset. “I don’t want to be here without you.”

You furrowed your brow and brought the hand that was resting on his bicep up to his neck. “The doctor said that you’ll most likely be discharged tonight after dinner once they get you up and walking and some of the anesthesia has worn off.”

The worry didn’t leave Dylan’s face. “You’ll come home with me?”

You smiled and pressed another kiss onto his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll come home with you.”

The relief let his muscles relax and his eyes shut. “Good.” He muttered, before his breathing became steady and he fell asleep.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Dylan leaned against the back of the bench, staring out across the Vltava towards all of Prague. He kneaded his thumbs into the bottom of your right foot, as it rested in his lap, and glanced over to see you with your sunglasses off and your face pointed up towards the sun, basking in its warmth. You were a sight that he felt lucky to be able to see.

A small hum left your lips, as you dug your foot further into his capable hands. “That feels so good.”

The corners of Dylan’s mouth twitched up in satisfaction, and he continued massaging up to your ankle and calf.

A few more minutes of comfortable silence passed, as Dylan worked his way to your left foot, before you spoke again. “I don’t want you to go tomorrow.”

Dylan looked to his left and saw you staring directly at him, the contented corners of his mouth drooped down. “I don’t want to go either.”

Your gaze dropped down to the straps of your sandals in your hands, resting in your lap, and you frowned. “Three months is a long time.”

Dylan slowed his persistent rubbing down and took an index of the way your body showed its sadness. He ran his long fingers up to your thigh and hooked his middle finger over your pinky finger. “It is, but I’ll be back in August and you’ll see me all the time then.”

You took a deep breath and shrugged, still not looking up to catch him staring at you. “Yeah, I know. I’m just going to miss you is all.” You replied, tucking a couple more of your fingers under his.

Dylan leaned over and pressed his lips against the side of your wrist, then craned his head up to finally get into your field of vision. “I’m going to miss you too, but I have my whole life to spend with you, so a few months away while you’re backpacking through Europe is not the end of the world.”

You stared at him for a moment, knowing that the heat on the back of your neck was from his words, not from the sun. “Your whole life, huh?” He’d been mentioning things like that with a greater frequency since the two of you had arrived in Europe two weeks prior.

Dylan smirked and nodded, straightening back up and returning to his duty of rubbing the aches out of your tired feet. “The whole thing.” Dylan shrugged and then looked up at you again, already watching him. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

You couldn’t help the bashful grin that spread across your face. “I can live with that.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

You swirled the wine in your glass around absentmindedly as you scrolled through the articles that Google suggested to you on your phone, while you waited for Dylan to come out of the bathroom and the plane to take off.

After six weeks in France, ten days in Greece, then two and a half weeks in London, you and Dylan were finally returning home.

 _Well_ , you were flying to Georgia technically, where Dylan would shoot his remaining two weeks of the ’ _American Assassin_ ’ sequel movie before he’d finally come back to New York. Your flight connected in Atlanta, while Dylan would stay in the South alone. You had to return sooner in order to receive your new assignment at work since leaving France.

You glanced up and saw Dylan talking to an older man towards the front of the First Class cabin, and snickered when you saw him mimicking the swing of a bat, because of course your boyfriend would get on a flight out of Europe and still somehow manage to find someone to talk about baseball with. You shook your head and focused back onto your phone where Google was providing you with a new article from Vulture magazine about Dylan, entitled, “ ** _How Dylan O'Brien Will Not Become An Action Star_** ”.

Your thumb quickly pressed against the glass of your iPhone and the article loaded. You began reading as soon as the pop-up ad disappeared.

 **Vulture Magazine** : “So, thanks for having me on set with you today! Is there anything you can tell me about the new film?”

 **Dylan O'Brien** : “Anytime, man. Uh, I can tell you that we’ve been in France for the last month and a half and we’ll be flying to London, Greece, and then Atlanta to finish the shoot in the next few weeks, but for fans of the book series, the fact that we are in France is maybe a good hint as to what storylines we could possibly be following, and uh, yeah, I really, uh, I can’t say anything else… [ _Laughs_ ] I’m still playing Mitch. So, I can tell you that! [ _Laughs_ ]”

 **VM** : “Fair enough, fair enough. No spoilers, I can respect that. Speaking of Mitch Rapp though, how excited are you to be revisiting this character?”

 **DOB** : “Extremely. Yeah, extremely excited. Um, I loved this character from the moment I read the first script for ’ _American Assassin_ ’, and I, actually, funny enough, I’m not a huge reader just because I read so much for work, like, uh, so many scripts, you know? So, I don’t read a ton of books, and I had really only read the book from the series that had to do with the movie I was making, but my girlfriend had been reading the rest of the series and she kept pointing out all of these little things in the books that Mitch does and finally convinced me to read the series too and I ended up finishing all of them in the span of, like, two months and uh, it gave me such a deeper and broader understanding of Mitch and what he’s really like and how he grows and I think that was all really valuable because this movie takes place a year after the events that took place at the end of the first movie and Mitch has grown a lot, like, I’m not necessarily playing the exact same character just with a new mission. There has been growth and a lot of personal and professional development for him.”

 **VM** : “What is this new, grown Mitch Rapp like then? Anything you can tell us?”

 **DOB** : “Mitch is so satisfying to play because he is so intense emotionally and so physically demanding, and that definitely hasn’t changed, but it’s been so unbelievably gratifying and fun getting to play Mitch a year after the events of the last movie because he is more emotionally and intellectually mature than he was when he was at The Barn and tracking down Ghost or Mansur, and he’s still incredibly passionate and impulsive, but, uh, he does seem to have a bit more of a control on his emotions and temper. He’s definitely a more experienced and more skilled assassin than last time around, but he’s still learning and still figuring out that whole counterintelligence world, but, uh, he’s so freaking dangerous and that is just really enjoyable to play. Like, who didn’t wanna be James Bond or Jason Bourne or whatever when they were growing up and now I get to play someone just like that, and I get to roll around and pretend to fight with people and it’s really just a fun time on set, every day.”

 **VM** : “It’s interesting that you call it a fun time on set every day because last time we spoke, well after you had finished shooting the first film, you had explained that, due to the accident that occurred on the set of a different movie, filming ’ _American Assassin_ ’ was really hard for you, that you almost backed out several times, had a panic attack on the flight out to Italy to shoot the movie, and had your dad on set with you the whole shoot as moral support.”

 **DOB** : “Yeah, yeah, yeah. The first shoot was like a whole other thing entirely compared to this one.”

 **VM** : “Right, so how was it filming this movie series for you personally, this time around?”

 **DOB** : “Fun, and that’s not to say that the shoot for the first movie wasn’t fun, because it was, but it was also incredibly taxing for me personally. It was like a whole other thing entirely. Plus, I mean, really, the only things that remained the same were Sanaa [ _Lathan_ ], Michael [ _Keaton_ ], the studio and the producers. This time around we have a ton of new characters and actors, including Armie Hammer [ _playing Mitch’s on-screen best friend, Scott Coleman, a US Navy SEAL featured in the books_ ] and Chadwick Boseman [ _playing an original character made for the movie, with an undisclosed role_ ], who have been phenomenal to work with, and we have a new director and new screen writers, and so the environment has been completely different on that end, just cause it’s all new, you know? But on the more truly personal end of that scale, this shoot has been different and I don’t want to say better, necessarily, but maybe less difficult or, uh, I don’t know, traumatic or something? [ _Laughs_ ] You know? Um, I was in a much darker place last time after my accident on ’ _The Death Cure_ ’, and getting back on a set and performing stunts again for the first time was incredibly nerve-racking and anxiety inducing, but I think enough time has passed, enough healing has occurred and I’ve gotten to the point where I understand how to work with a crew to make sure that not even accidents happen, and so I was just so much more comfortable on the set this time around and that made the experience just that much more fun for me.”

 **VM** : “Was your Dad, Patrick O'Brien, on set with you again this time?”

 **DOB** : “No, no, not this time, I mean, um, he did, uh, actually visit with my mom and my sister for a couple of weeks, but he sort of never visited me on set when he was actually out here and instead just traveled through Paris and France and stuff while I was on set for, like, ten hours a day. [ _Laughs_ ] So, that sucked.”

 **VM** : “That does kind of suck to go from having a support system, a loved one with you for a whole shoot and not being isolated on a different continent from your entire friends and family, to being isolated and alone on the next film.”

 **DOB** : “Oh, no, no, no, just cause my Dad wasn’t out here with me this time didn’t mean I was alone. My girlfriend, Y/n and I actually have been renting an apartment in Paris together throughout the shoot, and she’s been here the entire time I’ve been in France so she’s been just as good of a support system as my Dad was during the first film. [ _Laughs_ ] I mean, she isn’t necessarily on set with me every day, she works for Politico, she’s not in the industry, but I can usually get lunch with her most days and having someone to go home to is always fantastic. Her being able to stay in Europe while I’ve been shooting here has been amazing.”

 **VM** : “So, that’s a good seque, since you brought the topic up because a lot of the things that our researchers and our resident Dylan O'Brien fan girl intern all told me to help prepare me for this interview was that you have been much more vocal and open and active on social media and in general than you used to be in the past. You’ve been posting pictures of you and your girlfriend-”

 **DOB** : “I think it was literally like two pictures of us and one of them was retweeted from the Mets Twitter account so, like, how could I not repost that, you know? [ _Laughs_ ]”

 **VM** : [ _Laughs_ ] So, at least the obsession with the New York Mets hasn’t changed.“

 **DOB** : "Never. Literally LGM until I die or the Earth implodes, whichever happens first.”

 **VM** : “So you’ll remain consistent with your love for the Mets and baseball, but fans have noticed a bit of an evolution in regards to how much more vocal you’ve been about politics and your personal stances on issues and just not being as completely private about your personal life as you were in the past. You’re even doing an advertising campaign for  ** _TRUTH_** , an anti-tobacco and cigarettes organization, which sponsorship for really any brand was something that you had seemed to not be interested in getting involved with previously. Has there been a catalyst for all that change?”

 **DOB** : “Well, as for the  ** _TRUTH_** , no-smoking campaign, that is because I recently quit smoking and my friend, Holland, [ _Roden, who played Lydia Martin, O'Brien’s love interest on 'Teen Wolf’_ ] used to help with their campaign when we were still working for MTV and she and my girlfriend kind of convinced me to get involved with that cause and hooked me up with the right people to become a spokesperson-”

 **VM** : “You keep bringing up your girlfriend, it sounds like she has been a big part of this very visible change you’ve been going through in your career.”

 **DOB** : “I don’t know if I would call it a change, just people reassuring me that it’s okay to be myself, and she is a large part of how vocal I’ve been but a lot of it is also just the state of our country right now and not wanting to turn a blind eye to Trump and all the hateful crap he spews and all of the mass shootings and how the LGBTQ and minority communities have been treated since Obama left office. My sister is a part of the LGBTQ community and I was raised by two very liberal parents in New York City and they just taught us to stand up for what we believe in and to fight injustices however we can and I realized that I have this following of young people online who are fans and who are impressionable and who think that my opinion matters and I didn’t want my silence to be a reflection of my beliefs.”

 **VM** : “You’ve always had that following of young people though, so why now?”

 **DOB** : “Um, I guess the real difference would be Y/n. She’s a journalist and she’s so smart and she keeps me up to date with what’s happening in the world, more than I’ve ever been before and I suppose a bit of it is selfish in that I want to support her by always tweeting or retweeting her articles, but just because they have my girlfriend’s byline doesn’t mean they aren’t good articles, you know? And uh, I guess, it was just sort of hard to watch her be so active and involved in issues that matter and still sit back and not have any opinions of my own, and I, uh, I don’t know, I’m very aware of the platform and the privilege I have through my celebrity and I suppose I just decided that if I can bring more light to certain maybe neglected issues, or just issues or advocates that I really believe in, I’m going to do it. I’ve sort of given up on trying to please everyone, or, um, trying not to offend anyone, you know? It’s just not realistic, and also, a lot of it has honestly been growing up and the accident and understanding that I need to just live my life and not hide from the realities of my fame like people recognizing me and wanting to talk to me and not wanting to leave my house because I just wanted to be anonymous.”

 **VM** : “Is it hard to still be anonymous when you have another successful movie series under your belt and three more films confirmed, one also starring Gary Oldman or can you still fly under the radar sometimes?”

 **DOB** : “Um, when I’m filming, it’s hard because the fans know my movements every day, pretty much, and uh, a lot have figured out where mine and my girlfriend’s apartment in Paris is, and sometimes in LA it’s kind of hard to fly under the radar, but when I’m home in New York, or a lot of the time in Los Angeles, or when I’m on vacation or something, I can still just blend into a crowd and that’s great. It’s a relief to not have hit the point in the career of other actors where they can’t even grocery shop without being followed by a camera.”

 **VM** : “But that can only last for so long, I imagine. All of the Hollywood insider blogs say that you are definitely about to have your moment. There is a lot of buzz about the movies you have in the works right now and your roles in them. Do you feel prepared for what’s to come?”

 **DOB** : “Probably not. [ _Laughs_ ] I mean, I worry a little less about myself and more about my girlfriend and my family and my friends because I never want to negatively affect their lives with my fame, because they didn’t sign up for it, I did, but they never really seem to see it as a burden so I suppose I shouldn’t either.”

 **VM** : “You have this handful of roles that you’re best known for, namely, Stiles from ’ _Teen Wolf_ ’, Thomas from ’ _The Maze Runner_ ’ series, and now Mitch Rapp from the ’ _American Assassin_ ’ series, and while Stiles was a bit more of the comedic relief-sidekick kind of role, it was still somewhat physical-”

 **DOB** : “Definitely. Lots of running through the woods late at night and playing lacrosse for a million takes, which is exhausting.”

 **VM** : “Exactly, and then you have Thomas, which was just a ton of running and sprinting and Mitch, who is just a lot of grueling, physical fight scenes.”

 **DOB** : “Right, right.”

 **VM** : “Do you ever worry that you are going to get pigeon holed into this action hero guy role, or how are you keeping yourself from getting typecasted for those kinds of roles?”

 **DOB** : “The funniest part about this is that in the beginning, everyone was worried that I would get type-casted as the ’ _comedic relief_ ’ because of Stiles, and now everyone is worried that I’ll get stuck in this action hero guy role, which I think is hilarious because I really don’t see myself as that kind of guy at all in any way. Like, that is just not who I am. I am very lazy and non-confrontational and I hate physical exertion [ _Laughs_ ]. I don’t know, man, I just try to always pick scripts that speak to me and are never too similar. Like, neither Thomas nor Mitch are straight up action guys. It’s not ’ _Rambo_ ’, you know? Those characters always have these complex backstories and complicated and emotional and somewhat volatile personalities and it’s not as easy as running through a maze or shooting at some bad guys, it’s always rich in emotion and intense feeling and I think casting directors and showrunners and stuff have been able to see that, and I guess I hope they just keep seeing that I have more range than just 'the action guy’, you know?”

 **VM** : “I think if it’s any indication as to what I’ve seen shot on this film set, that will definitely be the case. This movie is emotionally grueling and you’re really killing it.”

 **DOB** : “Thanks man, Thanks. That’s great to hear." 

 **VM** : "So finally, where do you see yourself going next? Personally, professionally." 

 **DOB** : "Vacation? [ _Laughs_ ]. I wanna keep working hard and getting great roles that push and challenge me and make me learn new things. I don’t ever want to feel like I know everything or I have a complete handle on the industry. That would be so boring and arrogant of me." 

 **VM** : "And personally?”

 **DOB** : “My girlfriend and I are definitely actually going on vacation after this movie shoot is over because I start shooting another one in November back in the states, in Louisiana, and I think the two of us just need some downtime in between films." 

 **VM** : "Enjoy the vacation and the rest of your shoot and good luck man, you deserve all the good things.”

 **DOB** : “Thanks man, thanks a lot." 

 **VM** : "And lets go Mets!”

 **DOB** : "[ _Whoops_ ] LGM, BABY!“

* * *

* * *

* * *

Dylan had taken to waking up before you on this trip. He wasn’t sure how it kept happening naturally, as the two of you always went to sleep at the same time, but it was almost like his brain required the few extra minutes in the morning to simply take you in.

He had you memorized; each freckle, eye lash, stretch mark, and wrinkle was etched into the stone tablet of his mind.

He loved every centimeter. 

The curtains to your hotel room were drawn tight and only the smallest cracks of morning light poured through, but it was enough for Dylan’s eyes to easily focus on the way that your back would rise and fall with your steady sleeping breaths. He reached out, gentle and slow; hesitant to wake you up, but unable to fight the pull.

Your naked, resting body was magnetic to him. It made him tactile and ravenous. 

His fingers connected, with the velvety skin that covered your back first.

You didn’t stir at all.

Dylan flattened his palm, encompassing a fair amount of the ridges in your spine.

Still no movement.

He tried carefully rubbing up and down the center of your body, and still felt no signs of you waking. An involuntary smirk broke out across his pink lips because of how sound you slept. He slept that sound with you, as well. He had figured out that it was something about the weight of your body next to, or on his, while he slept, that made him sleep without issue.

A good night’s rest was part of the reason why he always wanted to be where you were. He’d do anything to keep feeling the intense intimacy of laying himself vulnerable and unconscious next to you. He knew he would.

As he leaned in closer, the sweet scent of fading vanilla and the subtle musk of sweat wafted up into Dylan’s nostrils. His eyes rolled back in pleasure. This was the distinct smell of you, the morning after. Intoxicating and heady, Dylan required more. He very carefully rested his head against the middle of your back, his arm slowly snaked around your waist. A deep exhale and Dylan was at peace.

This was where he was meant to be…. in his Parisian hotel room, with his eyes closed and his nasal cavity filling with the heavenly aroma of you, as his cheek melted into the soft skin of your back.

You still didn’t stir. He stayed there for a long while, drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, until the sliver of light through the curtains, landed on your back. He sighed, feeling the new warmth and sudden light ruining his sleep potential. He rolled off of you and back towards his side of the bed.

Dylan heard you mumble something into the pillow. Your voice sounded groggy and crackly, but the smile on his face spread anyway. "What’d you say, baby?”

“You’re like a dream.” You murmured, turning your head to look at him.

He furrowed his brow in amusement. “What?” Dylan asked, as he pressed soft kisses onto your shoulder and rubbed your back, not with any force, just to feel your skin against his.

Your breathing remained steady and quiet, and your eyes closed again, simply enjoying the feeling of his perfect hands on you. “You’re just gentle and sweet and beautiful and you should never ever leave this bed…” You confessed, until the corner of your mouth curved up. “..especially if you’re naked.”

Dylan snickered and closed the gap between your lips. His skin tingled, as your fingertips brushed against his chest. “You’re an actual dream.” He whispered, as he pulled away.

Now was your turn to snicker. “What? Like you willed me into existence or something?” You asked, as you opened your eyes to examine the smirk growing on his pink lips.

Dylan nodded. “Pulled a little fish out of the sea to swim around with me.”

You grinned and groaned and buried your face back into your pillow. “Ugh, too early for you to be cute and rhyming. I’m not clever at this hour. Not without coffee.”

Dylan snickered and rested his head back against the space between your shoulder blades, occasionally turning and pressing his warm lips against your taut back every few moments. “Sorry, baby. Go back to sleep.”

“Yes, sleep.” You agreed groggily, breathily, as his lips and tongue drew a line down your vertebrae.

Until suddenly, they were gone.

And there was a shift in the weight on the mattress.

You immediately turned over onto your back and searched for Dylan. “What are you doing? Come back to bed, D.”

Dylan smiled genuinely, as he pulled a clean pair of boxer briefs from his suitcase. “I’m getting you your coffee. Go back to sleep. It’s early and we were up late.”

You groaned and leaned up to get a better view of his lean muscles and long legs and veiny hands. “Exactly, it’s early and I’m certain I fell asleep before you, so just come back to bed. Don’t leave.”

Dylan pulled a pair of khakis off the back of a chair and began to yank them up his legs. You pouted. “I’ll be right back. I’m just getting food.”

You pulled an unhappy face at him and then crossed your arms. “Weirdly enough, Dyl, you’re paying a fair bit for this hotel and I’ve heard on good authority, as in my own, that they will bring us des oeufs in bed.”

Dylan’s laugh was muffled by the shirt that he was yanking over his head. He began to approached the edge of the bed, where your hands immediately reached out and grabbed at him to bring him closer. “Yes, we could get eggs in bed, again, but I was going to go to the patisserie by the bridge, and if you keep speaking French to entice me to stay, I might just.”

You tugged at his shirt and kissed his mouth, then hummed quietly against his lips. “The one by the music store?”

“Mmm. The very same.” Dylan pressed his body against yours, into the mattress, as he allowed his lips to roam the expanse of your neck.

You let your fingers string through his soft, chocolate brown hair, as you contemplated his offer. “I suppose I can always undress you when you get back.”

Dylan laughed heartily and it made your heart flutter in your chest. Well over a year later and the sound of Dylan’s happiness still made the world melt away around him. You considered yourself unendingly lucky.

“You can definitely undress me when I come back.” Dylan replied between small pecks against your lips, cheeks, eyes, forehead, nose.

You sighed, defeated yet pleased. “Chocolate raspberry croissants and coffee.”

“With two sugars and cream, I know, baby. I know what you want.” Dylan answered, as he began to climb off of you and out of the bed.

You lifted your brows once, suggestively, as if to say that he was what you wanted.

Dylan smirked and licked his lips, backing up towards the dresser to grab his wallet and phone. “I love you.”

“Say ’ _chocolate raspberry croissants_ ’ in French for me.” You said instead of 'I love you too.’

Dylan snorted and shook his head, but the smile never left his face. You loved this game. You thought that his French accent was sexy because of the movie. Dylan swiped his Raybans off the dresser and grinned, as he backed up towards the door. “Croissant de chocolat framboise.”

You groaned and beamed toothily and covered your heart with your hands. “Ugh. So good. The love of my life.” You closed your eyes and let the muscles in your cheeks hurt from smiling too much since waking up.

Dylan paused and pressed his hand over his chest, mimicking the way that you covered your heart, but the look on his face had grown less humorous and more sincere. “And of my lifetime.”

You opened your eyes and sighed quietly, staring at him, pausing by the door to stare at you, as if the two of you were about to be separated by years, not twenty or thirty minutes depending on the line at the pastry shop.

“I’ll be back in a few. Try to go back to sleep.”

You simply smiled and nodded in reply, and then Dylan was gone.

* * *

Dylan stood outside of the window of the shop next to the patisserie that grew to be a favorite of the two of yours in the weeks when you lived in France while Dylan shot the sequel to ’ _American Assassin_ ’. He’d passed by the row of stores more times than he could count, but the last few times, since being back in Paris, Dylan found that it wasn’t the ornate pastries that were catching his eye, but rather something in the window of the shop next door.

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. It was early in Paris, which made it the middle of the night in New York. He pressed on Julia’s number anyway.

The line rang twice and then a groggy groan sounded on the other end. “ _Long time, no phone calls, asshole._ ”

Dylan snorted and shook his head. “I definitely woke you up.”

“ _It’s two in the morning here, of course you woke me up._ ” Julia replied.

“You didn’t have to pick up.” Dylan answered with a smirk.

Julia made a disapproving noise. “ _I missed you, little brother, so yeah, I had to pick up. What’s going on? How’s Paris? How’s Y/n? When are you two getting back already? It’s October. You guys have been gone for two weeks. I thought this vacation was supposed to be short._ ”

Dylan smiled and rubbed his fingers against his jaw. “Paris is good. We were in Champagne, drinking a lot of Champagne two days ago and now we’re just sort of taking it easy, going to museums, eating eclairs.”

Julia snorted. “ _When do you two come back though?_ ”

“Five days,” Dylan paused for a moment and rubbed at the back of his neck, an easy grin taking over his face as he thought back of what awaited him in his bed at the hotel. “Although, I think I’m going to have to drag Y/n to the airport. We’re, uh,  we’re having a really nice time being back and not dealing with all the fans who knew I was shooting, and-” Dylan stopped talking, his stare intent on the merchandise in the window.

Julia waited a few moments, but Dylan’s voice had wandered off. “ _Uh…. earth to Dylhole… you still there?_ ” Julia asked from the other end.

“Jules…” Dylan began.

“ _Is everything okay?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s fine. Everything is fine, I just, um…” He sighed. “I’m standing outside staring at it again. I think I’m gonna actually do it this time.”

“ _Buy it, or actually do it?_ ” Julia clarified.

“Buy it. I know where I want to do it, and it’s not here.”

“ _Um, hello, D, but France is like the most romantic place on earth. Where would be better to do it but there?_ ”

Dylan shrugged, despite her not being able to see him. “I want to do it at home.” He explained, still staring into the window of the store.

Julia laughed. “ _Where were you thinking?”_

Dylan smiled  and rubbed the back of his neck. He began pacing on the sidewalk, avoiding the annoyed looking Parisians who he was walking in front of and weaving around as they continued on their morning commutes. “Okay, well, the first is a Subway Series game-”

“ _Which are all done. It’s October. There won’t be another Mets-Yankees game until, like, June of next year._ ” Julia reminded him of the time of year. “ _I mean, everyone is pretty sure that the Yankees are going to make it into the World Series, so you could do it then at one of the games._ ”

“Yeah, I know, and I don’t necessarily want to wait until next Summer to do it and I also don’t necessarily want to make a spectacle at a baseball game where there are Jumbotrons and shit, so, as cute and happy as I think it would make her, I think that one is out.”

“ _Agreed, what’s next?_ ” Julia moved him along.

“The second idea was, uh, on the beach out in Montauk because we sat and drank there one night last July and it was the night that I seriously started to think about a future with her. Like, it was the day that I realized that I couldn’t see myself without her anymore.” Dylan leaned against a parking meter and scratched his fingers against the hair on the back of his head.

“ _That could be cute, but does she know that you felt that way that night?_ ”

“Not really, and anyway, the third is the one I’ve been leaning towards the most.”

“ _Well then why didn’t you start with that one?_ ” Julia exclaimed, and Dylan laughed again. “ _What’s the third idea?_ ”

“I was thinking that I could bring her back to Penthouse 808, in Long Island City, where I told her that I loved her for the first time.”

“ _Oh my. Fucking god. Dylan. It has to be that one_.” Julia sighed dreamily at her very cute little brother.

Dylan felt butterflies fill his chest, and switched his phone from one clammy hand to the other. “Yeah, I know… Maybe rent it out one night around sunset, like right when we get home and it’s still decently warm, or something. I’d have everyone there, hiding, for after and just _-_ ”

Julia’s excitement took over and she cut Dylan off. “ _Candles, and string lights, and flowers, and YOU HAVE TO DO IT AT SUNSET, OH MY GOD, DYL. And then, and then, when you do it, we could all come out and have like a party, and she would die. She would love it. Just like hundreds of candles and her favorite flowers. I know she loves peonies and-_ ”

Dylan laughed and cut his sister off. “Do you want to propose to Y/n? Jesus, Jules.”

“ _I just want to make sure she says yes, Dylhole. I very much like the idea of her being my sister and I swear to god, I’ve never seen you happier than when you’re with her._ ”

“I know.” He sighed happily. “I want her to say yes too, and you’re right. I’m the happiest-” Dylan felt his phone vibrate against his ear and he pulled it away to see what notification he received. “Hey, Jules, Y/n’s texting me. I’m supposed to be out getting breakfast right now. I gotta go.”

“ _Wait! Wait!_ ” Julia shouted. “ _Are you going to get it??_ ”

Dylan smiled and opened the door to the jewelry store. “I think so. I’ll talk to you later.”

Dylan quickly hung up and read the text from you.

 **Y/n Y/L/N:**   _where in the world are you and my croissants_?

**Y/n Y/L/N:** _did you get mobbed by fans? fall in a lake? eat all the croissants and have to take a rest?_

**Y/n Y/L/N:**   _are you okay_?

He snickered and typed a quick reply.

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Fell in the Seine again_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** :  _ugh, you’re a mess_  :)

 **Dylan O'Brien** :  _Lol, I got spotted and stopped to talk to a few fans. I’m fine. Still have to grab your croissants. I’ll be back soon_.

 **Dylan O'Brien:**   _I love you so much_.

 **Y/n Y/L/N** : :) _i love you too_.

He sighed and shoved his phone in his pocket. He finally caught the eye of the man behind the counter and smiled. “Parlez vous anglais?”

“Yes, how can I help you?” The man replied, stepping forward to shake Dylan’s hand.

“I need to see the diamond ring in that case in the window.”

* * *

* * *

* * *

**[This is it. The Summer Fling is over. Thank you for reading. Feel free to tell me how you feel about the ending here. (but please please please don’t ask me to keep going with this series. just don’t. it’s over.)](http://were-cheetah-stiles.tumblr.com/ask) **

 


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